


'I cannot see the path. Perhaps there is only abyss.' - Canticle of Trials (The Inquisition)

by Shikaree



Series: 'I cannot see the path. Perhaps there is only abyss.' - Canticle of Trials [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: A fairly dark tale about the struggles of a woman in Thedas, Avoidance - will they/won't they, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Modern Woman in Thedas, My First Work in This Fandom, NSFW later chapters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape, Skip Chapter 46 if you do not wish to read that part, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Work In Progress, this may take a while!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-08-16 18:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 75
Words: 95,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8112535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shikaree/pseuds/Shikaree
Summary: Fay Tanner slowly drowns under the weighty responsibility of saving a world she does not know, whilst coming to terms with the loss of her own. Can she ever recover from the hurts of her past, the loss of her young daughter and the constant, painful reminder of all she can't be? She will never forget, but can she move on- and should she?## Alistair is King, Duran Aeducan killed the archdemon, Mythal has a hand in everything, there was no Old God baby, Fay seals the breach, reaches Skyhold, and nothing is as it first appears... ##





	1. Chapter 1

Cullen had been ushered out of the war room an hour ago, much to his chagrin, and now a missive written in Josephine’s meticulously neat hand had just been delivered by one of Leliana’s runners to his tent. He didn’t know what the ‘Herald’ had told them, or why he had been excluded, but it seemed they had accepted her story as the truth and sent a report to fill him in. Cullen issued a low groan and rubbed at his neck with his free hand as he read the details.

_Fay Tanner, our Herald, was previously resident in a place known as ‘Britain’ before travelling to us through the fade due to the unforeseen, and terrible circumstances, that occurred at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Both the Right and Left Hands of the Divine, Sister Nightingale and Seeker Cassandra, attest to her innocence after witnessing the vision invested to them shortly before the attempt to close the Breach. Fay has freely agreed to stay and help the Inquisition with finding a way to close the Breach entirely, and where possible, bringing those who are responsible for the explosion at the Conclave to face justice._

_However, being from a scholarly background, our Herald has not experience in combat training and will require both Seeker Cassandra’s and your support regarding this matter before we can consider sending her out in the field._

_Furthermore, it would be in the Inquisition’s best interests to keep our Herald’s personal background confidential. It would be remiss of our organisation to add to the already increasing fears amongst the Chantry, and indeed the people across Ferelden directly affected by the aftermath of what has happened, with heretical tales of other worlds than our own. I, Lady Josephine Montilyet, as Ambassador to the Inquisition will ensure that Fay receives the necessary schooling in social and historical subjects to enable her to maintain such discretion in public._

Whenever he believed that things could not get any stranger, he was always proved wrong. At least hope was not lost, Cullen thought, she had offered to stay and assist them with their cause regardless of the impossible tale of her origins. Not that it would appear she had anywhere else to go... Cullen gave himself a mental shake and reminded himself not to be unfairly judgemental. It was not his position to question what was and wasn’t possible in times such as these; or indeed say whether it was important right now.

“To work then” he muttered.

Folding the parchment Cullen tucked it safely away in the concealed pocket on the inside of the fur-collared cloak wrapped over his heavy armour, and rummaged through the training schedules, maps and schematics on his desk. It would not do for morale to have the Herald training alongside the new recruits, and they would need somewhere private with enough space. There was only one place that came to mind, and even that was not ideal- he doubted that she would be happy with the setting given her particular exposure. Cullen stepped from his tent with the aim to assess the dungeons underneath the chantry building in Haven and almost walked straight into the woman outside.

“Oh! I-I’m sorry. I was... not looking where I was going, I guess” she said.

“Ah, Herald.”

Cullen noted a flash of something behind her azure gaze as she focused on him: hurt, sorrow?

“I was just thinking about you-" he felt a flush at his poor choice of words and blundered on to cover his embarrassment. “I mean to say I was thinking about you and your training. You, erm, you may not like where I propose though, but I will send Cassandra with the details if I find it suitable.”

She mumbled what he could only ascertain to be an acceptance before quickly disappearing in the direction of the frozen lake just past the recruits’ tents without so much as a farewell. Perhaps it was not a good time and she just wanted space, Cullen thought in confusion. Maker’s breath, could he just for once not make a fool out of himself?


	2. Chapter 2

Fay discovered that sitting by the lakeside served as a double-edged sword. It was serene, the shimmering ice glinting with the mixed hues of amber and deep ochre from the late afternoon sunlight, but the peace and solitude left her with far too much time to _think_. Her frail heart finally shattered under the weight of grief pressing upon her, and alone she wept. Or at least, she had thought she was alone.

In her tear-blurred periphery, Fay became aware of a small, sturdy figure cautiously moving to sit beside her on the weathered planks of the jetty. Silent and solemn, Varric waved a silver hipflask towards her and nodded in understanding. He patiently waited, with his arm extended for her to dry her eyes and take it from him, but quiet sobs still wracked through her body, and she shivered uncontrollably.

Grasping the flask in her unmarked hand, Fay glanced at him in mortification at having been caught in such a state, but there was no sign of the pity she resented in his eyes. She steeled herself enough to be able to take a long swig, and quickly handed it back. The alcohol burned harshly at the back of her throat, tasting more like something used to strip metal than actually drink, but it seemed to help calm her- even if it was probably just a placebo effect.

“I would ask what it is, but I wouldn’t know it anyway if you told me” Fay managed to croak.

“It doesn’t matter, it tastes terrible. I found it in an abandoned hut on my travels a long time ago and could never seem to part with it” Varric said, and gave a small smile.

Something about his presence was comforting, and Fay was grateful that he had found her rather than anyone else. Rebecca would have loved him- an actual, real dwarf with fuzzy chest hair and a stature like a big teddy bear, with a warm personality to match.

“Fuck” she said, and felt the twisting in her chest again that almost left her breathless.

“I know you probably don’t, but do you want to talk about it Mouse?”

“My heart is broken, Varric. Life has always had a way of kicking me when I’m down, but this... I’ll never see her again and I don’t know why I’m here, or how.“

Varric’s lips set in a grim line and he offered the drink back to her.

“It’s a story I’ve heard before” he said carefully, “though not the part about being from another world... that’s a new one even to me, and I’ve heard some weird stuff I can assure you. All I can say is that I’m sorry for everything and everybody you’ve lost by... having to leave them behind.”

“I don’t care about losing anyone but her. My Rebecca.”

Fay could hardly bring herself to speak her name above a whisper, a tight band constricting around her heart every time an image of her played in her mind. Fay heard the way she giggled at only things a little girl would find funny. She saw glimpses of the special pictures drawn just for mummy to make her feel better, the way she smelled when Fay washed her fine, silken dark-blonde hair with her favourite strawberry shampoo... Rebecca loved having a bedtime story read to her every night, listening with rapt attention and large eyes in wonder at tales of silly witches and talking animals. Her favourite panda bear, threadbare and only just holding together at the seams, would be tucked in beside her on the pillow, and Fay would kiss them both before turning out the light.

Would _he_ do that for her now?

Her daughter would think she had abandoned her... What if she started to forget her? It was too raw, too painful to contemplate.

“I’ll never see my daughter again Varric” she explained numbly and took another drink of whatever caustic substance was in the flask.

“Well... shit. I mean, well- ugh.”

Varric stood and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, a firm but gentle embrace, and Fay burst into another round of choking cries as he held her close while she mourned.


	3. Chapter 3

Terrified was the only way he could describe the Herald’s expression as she stepped into the dimly lit area between the cells. Cullen had not felt right wearing his old Templar plate – intimidating enough for even a seasoned recruit – but Cassandra had insisted.

“The Herald will have to face both mages and Templars fighting in the Hinterlands; it is best she gets used to the sight. She must also learn where best to strike and how to defend herself against armoured opponents should the need arise” she had reasoned.

Cullen hated to admit the Seeker was right, though the Herald’s reaction gave him a pang of guilt. The woman could barely make eye contact with him and stood subconsciously flexing the hand branded with the mark, her posture rigid. It was an elementary fight or flight reaction brought about by fear that Cullen had seen often enough through the years.

“Relax” he urged, “I’m not your enemy.”

She nodded, and he saw her shoulders begin to lose their tension. Indicating to the wooden staff propped up against the wall near the doorway he instructed her to arm herself. First he would assess if she had any form or strengths he could work with, or if their training would have to be from a complete beginner's level.

“I want you to hit me” Cullen said, and she stifled a nervous laugh.

“You do know that we don’t do... this... where I’m from, right? Not normally, anyway” she told him.

He found the slight twang to her accent intriguing; her pronunciation was precise but not overly exaggerated in the way it was with southern nobles. She sounded well-spoken, with a delicate and pleasant tone that was easy on the ear. His own speech was a common Ferelden country accent, the words rough and occasionally lazy around the edges by comparison.

“I’m aware” Cullen said. “However, there is local conflict on a serious scale and it is not likely to go away any time soon Herald.”

A frown worried at her brow and she gave a sigh of resignation.

“Fine, but please don’t refer to me with that title while we’re not in public. I didn’t ask for it, and I certainly do not want it.”

“Very well, Heral- Fay” he said and rubbed gingerly at the back of his neck.

Shifting the staff uncomfortably in her hands, Fay settled on an evenly spread two-handed grip and took up a surprisingly good fighter’s stance. Her left foot pointed towards him with her right foot extended behind, her legs a shoulder’s width apart and her torso twisted to give a smaller target. For a non-combatant the naturalness of her position was a better start than he could have hoped. Her blue eyes flared in the flickering torchlight with perceptible mental resolve, and Cullen beckoned to her with one gloved hand to begin.

“Let’s get this humiliation over with shall we” she said and darted forwards.

Moving as if to jab the staff at him like a spear in the centre of his chest, Fay flicked the forward momentum from one wrist to the other at the last second. The staff swept round, quickly feinting at his right and then swinging left. It very nearly caught him off-guard.

“Good” he praised.

Releasing his hold on the shaft only a few inches from her fingers, Cullen smiled reassuringly. Fay huffed and shook her head at him, a few locks of her wavy dark chestnut hair falling free from the loose braid securing it and framing her face. Clearing his throat awkwardly, knowing he had been caught staring, Cullen tried to slip his professional mask back in place. Maker, what was wrong with him?

“Keep your hair tied back so that it can’t be grabbed in close quarters” he told her. “People fight dirty, even professionally trained soldiers. They will use any advantage to throw you off balance or subdue you.”

She bit her lip and averted her gaze, murmuring a small “okay”.

“Take up your position again and I will go over some things.”


	4. Chapter 4

Fay spotted Varric approaching and inclined her head at him in an unspoken invitation to join her. He tutted, clearly seeing how tired and run-down she was feeling after long days of rigorous training with _him_ , the Commander, and tedious sessions in Josephine’s office poring over dusty tomes on history, religion, etiquette... She grimaced and kicked her feet hanging over the edge where she sat, startling a small bird with glossy black feathers into flight from beneath the pier.

“That bad, huh” he said and stood looking out across the ice.

Fay snorted and leant forwards to rub at her aching calf muscles. She had not had chance to spend much time with Varric given her busy schedule, and she missed being able to talk to someone who did not look at her critically. There was a sad wisdom in his eyes that hinted to a tragic story of his own hidden just beneath the soft brown depths; they were comrades of despair it would seem.

“Having to learn the words to a convoluted play about people bickering over subjects that I have no grasp of: Blights, circle tower prisons for wizards- sorry, mages - and a black city in... I’m not even sure. I hated history at school, it was just varying ages of men pointing at things saying ‘bad’ and slapping anyone that tried to argue otherwise; the pointier sword wins.”

“That about sums it up, yes” Varric agreed and gave a chuckle. “So, now that we’re out of earshot of our illustrious Inquisition leaders... how are you really holding up?”

Fay closed her eyes, listening to the clash and scrape of metal against metal, and the sea of voices rumbling in the background before giving him an honest answer.

“Terrible, disjointed, I’m just going through the motions more than anything. I can’t sleep and, well... it’s not like I can just switch off my feelings, is it?”

“One foot in front of the other- I get it. I won’t patronise you and tell you it’ll all be fine, but it will eventually get easier.” Varric hesitated and fiddled with a button on the cuff of his russet jacket. “Rebecca may be far away Mouse, but she’s not _gone_.”

The Commander’s voice cut through the air, an exasperated instruction to one of his men to block properly with his shield, and Fay flinched.

“Curly been giving you a hard time?” Varric asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Curly...? I-I probably don’t want to know...”

“No changing the subject. Maybe I’ll tell you about it over a drink.”

Fay rubbed at her temples in frustration, but a drink did sound good right about now despite of the headache she could feel brewing.

“It’s just...” she stood and gave a groan, both at the aches in her lower back and legs and at how silly she was about to sound.

“You can’t leave me in suspense- if you do I’ll make up an ending ten times worse and spread it as gossip; I am a storyteller after all” he threatened with a wink.

“Things really that dull in Haven, after everything that’s happened?” she asked incredulously.

They set off back towards the village, Fay carefully picking the path she knew took the long way around the sparring grounds and therefore the most likely to avoid a run-in with the Commander or the Seeker.

“Do you ever think that someone up there is having a good belly laugh at your expense?”

Varric shrugged, “Only all the time.”

“He reminds me of someone, and I can’t really dissociate from that. It makes training... a strain.”

“Someone you didn’t like?”

A few soldiers cast her a curious glance as they hurried by and Fay made sure to nod politely at them. At least these ones didn’t stop to salute or bow to her; she cringed inwardly every time someone did, whilst having to make sure she kept a neutral look plastered on her face. ‘Always keep up appearances’ Josephine had insisted: The people needed to believe in her and support the Inquisition if they were to have any chance of getting through this mess. But how long would she have to do this for exactly? And what about after, if by some miracle, they succeeded?

“Mouse?” Varric prodded.

“Oh, sorry. Erm, well it’s complicated. He was someone I loved more than anything, before my daughter of course, but then he became someone who disappointed me and I ended up hating.”

He had the same honeyed gold hair, the same broad stature and height- though the Commander was more muscular beneath all that armour she imagined - and the same mellow roughness to his voice. Fay sighed and glanced down sideways at Varric.

“My husband” she supplied, “Andrew.”


	5. Chapter 5

Harritt handed him the short one-handed flanged mace with a glimmer of pride.

“S’good work that, should suit the Herald jus’ fine.”

Cullen inspected it carefully, nodding in satisfaction that it was light enough for Fay to wield and that the leather strap wrapped around the shaft provided enough grip. After discussion with Cassandra following on from the two weeks training they had both had with the Herald – Fay, he corrected himself – they were in agreement that a weapon of this type would suit her affinity with speed, and compliment her improving shield blocking skills. It was a little unorthodox, but he was certain Fay would adapt to it well. Cullen was relieved that she was a fast learner, there were still some raw recruits he had been given the arduous task of overseeing recently who still had trouble remembering which end to even hold a sword by... He shook his head and his jaw clenched. He really needed to speak to Leliana about that- where in Thedas was she finding these men?

“... shield as well.”

Blinking, he realised that Harritt was still talking to him.

“I-I’m sorry, pardon?”

“I finished work on the armour an’ shield as well” the blacksmith repeated with a slight roll of his eyes.

“Oh, well, that’s good.”

“They’re over there. I’m sure she’ll be ‘appy to receive ‘em.”

With that, the man turned back to his anvil and dutifully ignored the perplexed look gracing Cullen’s face. Since when was he a delivery boy? As if he didn’t have enough to do right now; although, he could do with visiting Adan for something to help his shakes, and it was on route he supposed. Grumbling under his breath, Cullen collected the armour, shield, belt and other accessories that were piled on top of the crate that Harritt had pointed to and slowly made his way towards Fay’s cabin. Luckily, he was spared trying to work out how to knock with his arms full as Varric opened the door with a grin.

“Curly! I saw you struggling through the window and, as much as it gave me amusement, I was just leaving anyway. See you later Mouse, you owe me another story later for all the quality drink I’ve been providing.”

With a wave inside Varric parted, leaving Cullen standing uncertainly at the threshold. He licked his dry lips and cleared his throat, nearly dropped what he was carrying as she appeared in front of him. Her dark hair was untied, cascading over her shoulders, and her fair cheeks were tinged pink from the drink Varric had obviously donated. For once she actually met his gaze unabashed, and with an intensity that made a primal part of his being want to respond in a less than gentlemanly fashion.

“I... I, erm, brought your equipment for the trip in a few days” he managed.

“I could have collected it tomorrow, but thank you.”

“Harritt was... insistent” Cullen explained.

Fay stepped aside and Cullen put the armour and iron braced round shield down on the chair near the window. Two mugs and a bottle of Chasind Sack Mead sat on the worn table top and he couldn’t supress a bemused huff.

“I thought Varric said it was quality.”

“He was being sarcastic, I hope. It’s bitter and has an absolutely foul aftertaste, but it does the job.”

“I’m surprised you’re not drinking in The Singing Maiden, at least their ale is passable.”

Fay traced her fingertips across the scratches on the surface of the table before picking up the bottle and pouring another drink.

“I thought it better to stay away from prying and damning eyes, especially when drunk. I am the black sheep of this organisation after all, with where I’m from and the mistrust that would cause.”

She sounded bitter, not that Cullen could blame her. They were asking her to lock a part of herself away, and he knew what that was like.

“I’m sorry, Fay” he said quietly.

She took a long swig and scrunched her nose, her blue eyes darkening at what he still held gripped in his hand.

“What is that?”

“Oh, of course, this is the mace we had commissioned for you. It can be used with similar techniques you have been learning from Cassandra and I-”

“I thought I was just learning for self defence? That looks- it looks brutal” she interrupted.

“Herald, you will be going out into a warzone. There may be a necessity for-"

“No.”

Fay rose from the table and squared up to him angrily.

“I’m not a murderer, I can’t do that.”

“There will come a point when Cassandra may not be able to-"

“I’m a mother, and you expect me to be able to take someone’s son or daughter away... like _that_?”

“If it comes to it, yes” he snapped.

Maker, if she would just stop cutting him off and actually listen to reason.

“Get out.”

Cullen looked down at her in disbelief. Just when he thought she might be settling into the way things were and here she was overreacting to something fundamental. Dourly putting the weapon down with the rest of the things he had brought, Cullen complied with her request.

“It would be selfish to expect your comrades to cover your back, without doing the same to them” he added over his shoulder as he left.

It was only as he made it to Adan’s that what she had said registered in his mind. She was a mother? Meaning... His hands tightened into fists at his sides and he bowed his head in shame. What had he done?


	6. Chapter 6

“But he at least tried to apologise to you?”

Fay glared at Varric and felt her jaw set in stubbornness.

“Yes, but he’s still an ass...”

“Mouse” he said, quickening his pace to catch up, “he put his foot in his mouth, but he doesn’t know you. I doubt even I know everything about your... previous life.”

Varric winced at stating the harsh fact of her predicament and took stock of Cassandra and Solas’ position ahead of them. Lowering his voice, Varric’s expression softened.

“Look, just consider what he meant- not necessarily how bull-headed he said it.”

“I’m lugging the fucking thing about aren’t I, just don’t expect me to instantly reach for it when faced with _people._ ”

“People who will be trying to kill you. Ugh-" Varric threw his hands up in defeat and left her to stew over his words.

Her state of continued anger surprised even her, but it was like a vortex that kept dragging her in with no escape. Fay felt bad about blackening the mood for everyone on this trip; it was an outward reflection of her internal conflict. It had not been helped by the discussion she had with Solas before they left- he confirmed that he did not know how or why she had been drawn through from her own world, and as it was caused by an accident with too many variable factors that could not be replicated... well there was no chance of her going back. She was stuck putting on a brave face and withering away inside, with the Commander serving as a reminder of an old wound that had never properly healed.

“Here looks like a good place to camp” Cassandra called, dropping her pack onto the dirt.

Days of trekking had carried them across the snow dusted, craggy landscape and back to sparsely vegetated earth with dense woodland and verdant grass visible on the horizon. It reminded Fay of the more rural areas close to where she... _had_ lived. She had never been a fan of the bustle of urban living, too many people crammed together in small apartments, so she had insisted to Andrew that they bought a house on the borders within commuting distance of work rather than in the midst of the city. When Rebecca had come along she had felt even more justified in her decision- their back garden was big enough to provide a safe place to play and run around; they had put in a slide and a playhouse...

“Dammit” she muttered and wiped away the tears pricking her eyes.  

Her three companions busily setting up tents and rummaging through supplies struck her as a surreal scene, and one she would somehow have to get used to. This was her reality now; clueless, homeless and alone. Unceremoniously dropping her weapons and removing her gloves, Fay walked over and ended up next to Solas who was deftly securing the ropes of one of the tents into the ground.

“Can I help?” she asked.

Solas smiled, his stormy grey eyes searching hers in his customary curious and compassionate way.

“I would appreciate that, thank you, Fay.”

He didn’t need her to assist him, and Fay managed a quirk of a smile in return at his amicable gesture of forgiveness for her behaviour.

“I will try to be better, I’m sorry. It’s just, none of this... sits well with me” she admitted quietly and set to work, doing her best to ignore the eerie glow against the canvas caused by the mark on her hand.


	7. Chapter 7

The great hulking beast slumped to the floor with a thud, one of its large paws narrowly missing her on the way down. Fay stared, her mouth open and her pulse hammering from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She tightened her grip on the mace, the flanged head now slick with crimson blood, and was vaguely aware of Cassandra stabbing it one last time for good measure.

“A bear... a fucking bear” she uttered in horror.

Cassandra simply grunted with exertion and cleaned her sword on its bristly fur. All credit to the Seeker, she had managed to keep its attention and deflect every swipe with her shield. The woman must be a mountain of muscle, or stone, or something... she had just stood toe-to-toe with a bear for pity’s sake. Fay’s stomach churned and her mouth watered with the pre-emption of bringing up her breakfast. Somehow, through sheer force of will, she held it back.

“Welcome to the Hinterlands” Varric said and burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.

“I had to club... a bear” she whispered.

“And you did great Mouse” he said, knocking her playfully in the side.

“I-I don’t- is this a normal daily occurrence?” she asked him.

“Well, I don’t like to break it to you but it’s about to get worse...” Varric pointed to a hilltop through the treeline, “You see that over there?”

Fay nodded, squinting at what she thought looked like an Inquisition banner.

“That's the forward camp Leliana had set up by her scouts.”

Fay turned her attention back to the clearing and watched Solas check Cassandra over for any injuries. She was glad that he was a good aim with the magical stuff he was throwing about during a fight; ice boulders and lightning flying out of thin air... It didn’t seem to matter how many times she witnessed the casting of magic, it still seemed impossible. But, he always put some form of barrier over them during an attack and the feel of it over her skin set her nerves jangling- that felt real enough. Fay moaned, fighting back another wave of sickness and swallowing heavily.

“So?” she managed to ask once her insides settled and stopped twisting into knots.

“It means we’re close to the Crossroads, and that means mages and Templars.”

“Oh, well that’s fucking great.”

The Commander’s rant echoed in her head. This could be it, she realised, how big a step would it be from a large animal to a person? Thedas was brutal- they were literally used to fighting to survive, but could she do the same?

“Sorry to be the _bearer_ of bad news” Varric smirked.

Cassandra issued a noise of pure disgust at the terrible pun, and even Solas gave a disapproving sigh.

“Tough crowd, at least Bianca loves me” he said, cradling his crossbow to his chest.

“Are you okay?” Solas asked.

Fay knew that he wasn’t referring to the fight with the bear, but for what they were to face.

“I-I’ll be fine. Let’s just get going shall we- hopefully we won’t come across more bears on the way.”


	8. Chapter 8

Cullen pinched at the bridge of his nose and scanned the latest correspondence from the Seeker. The situation in the Hinterlands was far worse than they had originally assessed, and now intel had been uncovered of not just a rogue Templar encampment, but one housing a cell of rebel mages as well. The civilians trapped at the Crossroads needed a speedy resolution to the bloody local conflict, but Cullen realised with regret that they didn’t have the manpower to do anything about it just yet. He let out a growl of exasperation and scrunched the sheet tightly in his hand before discarding it onto the desk.

Fay was apparently recovering well from some minor wounds received in a recent small-scale confrontation between the two opposing sides, though Cassandra remained vague about exactly what had happened. ‘She is not a soldier, Commander, do not judge her too harshly’ she had written, but Cullen could read between the lines. The Herald had blatantly hesitated and, if the quiet elven apostate Solas had not been there to heal her, the outcome could have been fatal. Granted, he had put his foot in his mouth prior to her departure, though that was hardly his fault if she didn’t talk to him about things, but she had chosen not to heed his words out of sheer obstinate resistance.

It was ironic for Thedas to be teetering on the verge of a cataclysm because of magic, he thought, and yet simultaneously clinging to hope because of a magical brand, and a hedge mage assisting in the protection of its bearer. The idea made him increasingly uncomfortable, but he was trying hard to accept the shades of grey in-between the black and white after what had taken place at Kirkwall.

The consolation was that there was also some much-needed good news. Four rifts had been found and closed without incident, and Cassandra was pleased with Fay’s progress- at least against the demons they had come across in the last ten days. Mother Giselle was already enroute to Haven with a list of contacts of other Chantry officials who would give the Inquisition a chance, and Master Dennet had pledged mounts in return for the construction of watchtowers to keep his farmstead safe. Small steps in the right direction, but it wasn’t enough.

Cullen began to formulate a plan- several issues needed addressing and he could only ensure success with drastic action. If he could borrow Leliana’s courser, he could be at the camp by dawn and Rylen was more than capable of overseeing the green recruits in his absence. It was worth taking a calculated risk if it meant that he could force Fay through her reluctance, and prevent further needless civilian deaths. She wasn’t going to like him for what he was going to do, but he would rather her angry at him than fail in his duty of care. This was not her world, and if he had to take the measures he was thinking of- for a crucial member of the Inquisition - then he would do so willingly. You’re already off on a wrong foot, he berated himself, what have you got to lose? Why do you care if she likes you or not?

Cullen made his way up towards the chantry and ducked inside the open tent Leliana had set up as a station for her messengers and reconnaissance team. Looking up from the letter in her hand, the spymaster addressed him in her usual enigmatic manner.

“Commander, what do you require of me?”

“Ah, I came to request that you send a raven-”

“To Cassandra ahead of your arrival, consider it done. When do you leave?”

How did she even...? Leliana gave him an impish smile and Cullen rubbed at his jaw, the rough stubble rasping against the leather of his glove.

“At once. But, I find myself in need of a horse, and with so few at our disposal here...”

“I will have Forte saddled and ready for you.”

Cullen nodded in thanks and turned to leave.

“Commander” Leliana said quietly and he stopped in his tracks. “From reading Cassandra’s report I am aware of the tactical decision that you have made- I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I didn’t, no? But, we must often hurt those we care for in order to protect them, and for what it’s worth I think you're doing the right thing.”

“Thank you, Leliana.”

He did feel better knowing that at least one person understood and agreed with him, even if her uncanny sense of perception was unnerving. Women, Cullen rued, they’ll be the death of me.


	9. Chapter 9

Glowering at the warrior who had just managed to land her on her arse, not for the first instance that morning, Fay started to miss the seclusion of her cabin in Haven, the cosy hearth, and even the uncomfortable straw bed which was a darn sight better than a bedroll on the ground. Cassandra was a relentless taskmaster, adamant in her conviction that drills would be done at dawn, regardless of how hungover the participant was.

“Again” Cassandra ordered. “Your technique and strength is improving, but you still leave your right side too open.”

“No need to be smug, my shoulder fucking hurts from you ‘taking it easy’ on me” Fay said.

“Then it shall act as a reminder to square your stance better and prepare for the blow. Again.”

Fay struggled to her feet and gritted her teeth against the sharp stabbing across the top of her head. Why she continued to drink the  shit that Varric  seemed to have a nose for sniffing out was beyond her reasoning. The alcohol in this place was damn awful, and the headaches the morning after even worse. She sighed, that was a lie, she knew all too well why she continued to drown her sorrows.

Cassandra attacked with an exaggerated swing and Fay punched her round shield forwards to meet the blade, pushing out with her left hip and flexing her knee as she drew back slightly with her right. Keeping the top of the shield raised up, Fay pulled her left arm straight back and brought the mace round for a strike at the same time, her ears ringing from the reverberation of Cassandra’s block. The motions were becoming more second-nature to Fay, which was an odd thought for someone who was a month or so ago working in an office processing orders and liaising with suppliers.

“Better, though you need to be faster.”

“Fuck me” Fay muttered under her breath.

Cassandra’s attention was drawn to something behind her, and swivelling to see what had the Seeker so pre-occupied, Fay immediately wished she hadn’t. Cantering towards them on a sleek white horse was the Commander, who was supposed to be back at Haven, but instead was here looking every bit the knight in shining armour. She felt her pulse quicken, betraying her want to remain impartial to his chiselled good looks and the softer side to his nature that she had privy to experiencing a few times during their personal moments together. No, she was still annoyed at him and would not be swayed by the fact that he looked... dammit, really, she was blushing?  

“What is he doing here?”

“Will you ever refer to him by name?”

“Maybe, when I’m not pissed off with him...”

“There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” Cassandra said intuitively.

“You didn’t tell me why he’s here. The pair of you wanting to gang up on me now or something?”

The Seeker grunted and gave her a disapproving scowl.

“How long can you be upset over an honest mistake? Despite what you think, we are not doing any of this out of sadistic enjoyment to see you suffer. I will leave the Commander to inform you himself why he has joined us.”

Fay watched Cassandra in shock as she stalked off into camp. She was really leaving her to face the Commander in her sweaty, unkempt state, alone, and with a head threatening to split open at any second? Fabulous. Could today get any worse?

The thumping hoof-beats slowed and Fay found the Commander only a few feet away, his expression set to one of determination. Pulling the reins to bring the horse to a halt he gave their surroundings a cursory glance and bowed his head in greeting. With no-one around to warrant referring to her by the title he knew she despised, he remembered to call her by her name.  

“Good morning, Fay.”

The horse snorted and stamped at the ground impatiently, its coat shimmering with a wet sheen indicating that the Commander had ridden hard to get here.

“What’s wrong?”

She hadn’t meant to be blunt, but he had her worried. He looked down at her, gripping the hilt of his sword for comfort as he often did, and sighed.

“Look, I know we did not part on the best of terms. I did not mean to upset or hurt you, please can we start over?”

Fay saw the sincerity in his golden eyes and her annoyance faded. It was true, it wasn’t really his fault and she was too tired to continue her pettiness due to something she couldn’t deal with; they had to work together after all.

“Fine” she told him, “I-I’m sorry.”

She should not be held prisoner by a jaded opinion and memory of someone else- someone _he_ was not. The Commander gave her a relieved smile, his hand releasing his sword to rub at the back of his neck as he contemplated what to say.

“I’m Fay, I’m not from around here, but I can tell you one thing.... I officially detest bears.”

She held out her hand to him to shake, and without hesitation he took it with the biggest grin she had seen brightening his face yet.

“Cullen” he said, “I am from around here, and I can tell you that I officially detest bears too. Except when they’re keeping my neck warm.”

Fay laughed. “Are you actually cracking a joke, Comm- Cullen?”

“It has been known” he said coyly, “though I think I still need to practice.”


	10. Chapter 10

“We’re doing what?!”

“Neutralising the mage encampment” Cullen repeated.

 “You rode all this way to, what, send me to my death?”

“No” Cullen regarded her with a measure of sympathy, “I will ensure nothing happens to you, you have my word. The people at the Crossroads need our help and the inquisition must stabilise this area or they will continue to be caught in the crossfire. You’ve seen the ramifications of this enough to know that I’m right.”

“Will anything I say actually change your mind?”

“No. Fay, please think about this sensibly instead of emotionally, I know you’re scared but-”

"Fine.”

Fay cut him off with a glare that dared him to speak further only if he wanted to suffer the full extent of her wrath. He had seen the fire in her already, and after half a day’s ride at full speed without hardly any rest he was in no mood to argue. She had consented, with a finality that meant that he was likely back to ‘Commander’ rather than Cullen, but there would be worse to come if she sussed his plan- _when_ she sussed his plan. Of course, she would see through him, Fay was astute and he was in for a whole world of trouble afterwards. Should have saved your offer of peace until after all this is done Rutherford, Cullen lamented to himself. Clicking his tongue at Forte, he wordlessly followed Fay into camp and handed the reins to one of the Inquisition scouts.

“Commander! You made good time. Is that Sister Nightingale’s horse? He’s a beauty.”

Cullen looked down to find Scout Harding beaming up at him with her characteristic happy-go-lucky grin and holding out a rolled-up map of the area.

“Erm, yes. Is Solas around?” he asked as he took it from her.

“Sure is, he’s right over there” Scout Harding pointed to the far side of camp where the elf leant against a tree reading, his staff propped by his side.

“Thank you. Can you ask Seeker Cassandra to have everyone together within the next thirty minutes ready to move out?”

“Certainly Commander. No rest for the wicked huh?” she teased.

“Apparently not.”

He watched Fay emerge from her tent, now changed into her dark brown leather armour made from druffalo hide. It had been fitted to remain thin, light and flexible, but tough enough to offer some protection. She was a second line of defence between the warriors and the backline fighters, and as such did not require the heavy armour that Cassandra and himself wore to take the brunt of hits.

‘The vicious beasts lay down and were quieted; the meek lambs became bold and rose up, casting aside their shepherd to dance at the Maker’s feet’ he recited quietly.

Fay caught his eye and Cullen turned away with a sigh. Sometimes she infuriated him, yet there was something about her... Get a grip on yourself man, you’re not a mabari pining over its master and you have work to do. He took a deep breath and strode over to where Solas was still engrossed in whatever tome he had chosen to digest. Desperate times called for unusual acts, and an ex-Templar asking an apostate for aid definitely counted as such.


	11. Chapter 11

The barrier at the entrance to the cave network shattered under a barrage of lightning from Solas’ staff. Cassandra and Cullen charged through, swords and shields poised against the expected retaliation to their trespass, with the rest of them left to bring up the rear.

“Surrender now!” Cassandra yelled above the cacophony of furious shouts and pounding footsteps over the hardened dirt, “Lay down your weapons and you will not be harmed.”

Cullen grunted in distaste, clearly assessing that the mages would not comply. There was a few seconds of complete hush, which hung in the air with a viscous tension that made Fay hold her breath. There were at least thirty of them; even the biggest rift she had shut down had only spewed forth demons totalling a third of that number. But these were no faceless, gelatinous and non-humanoid formed demons, they were people like her: Sons and daughters, friends, potentially wives and husbands with children themselves waiting for them when this conflict was over.

Fay closed her eyes and clutched the hilt of her mace until she could feel her knuckles whiten and her fingers numb. She wanted to be away from here- to be anywhere else but standing on what was about to become a bloody battleground. Fay was not a woman of faith, but she found herself offering a prayer, a plea, to wake up and find herself home with her daughter. You can’t go home, a small voice whispered at the back of her mind, so you might as well die here a failure too.

Her eyes flew open in time to see the decision made by the leader of the rebel group, and the snippet of memory that she had tried to cling to for the past month or more since arriving in Thedas slipped away; a memory that held the key to what she had been doing before waking up with the mark. The world around her sped up and crashed back down, bringing her back to the start of the fray with a dizzying whirl.

Cullen angled his shield and blocked the fireball aimed at him with ease before a faint sapphire glow surrounded him and the Seeker. A barrier? But no, Solas hadn't moved to cast and it did not have his signature feel of energy that she had come to recognise. It was a suffocating force, heavy and powerful that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“What-what is that?” Fay whispered to Solas.

“They are being silenced. The mages must either give up or face us with conventional means- the choice is theirs. They have hurt too many innocent people in their blinkered, rage-fuelled clashes with the Templars, and that ends today” he answered solemnly.

Varric hoisted Bianca onto his shoulder and readied himself, the impending massacre- whether it was theirs or the mages, Fay wasn’t entirely sure - too grim for him to contemplate offering any comfort with his normal humour.

It was morbidly fascinating, and a little disturbing to her mind, how these talented individuals able to manipulate energy into magic could suddenly be brought to their knees. The mages shrieked in anguish from the effect of the silence on them, still not prepared to back down, and took up brandishing their staves with the sharp blades at the end in offense. There would be no reasoning with them and Fay’s heart thudded wildly with anticipation.


	12. Chapter 12

His affinity with Templar abilities was waning since abstaining from taking lyrium and Cullen could already feel the strain of his body wrestling to maintain  an internal equilibrium. He ground his teeth and concentrated through the intense discomfort. At this rate Rutherford, your ‘accident’ may not have to appear so accidental after all unless you pull yourself together, he thought. He thrust, parried and fended off each incoming attack with an ingrained autonomy from years of training, but already the shakes were threatening to render him weakened unless they could pick up the pace and end this soon.

A crossbow bolt whizzed a few inches from Cullen’s right ear and embedded itself with deadly accuracy in forehead of another fighter before him, courtesy of Varric, while off in the distance a female mage was frozen to the spot by Solas’ ice magic. Half down he estimated, and the growing pile of bodies the mages were now stumbling over in front of their blockade was a grim confirmation.

“Maker take you! Surrender!” Cassandra shouted in frustration.

A quick glance told him that she was faring a lot better than he was, and the Seeker gave him her own steely look of concern in return. She knew that the skirmish was draining him quickly because of the blanketing silence, and that he would be too stubborn to admit so anyway. Besides, what could they do about it now? Even if he was no longer a Templar, he had not turned his back on the core reason for becoming one. His life was given to the protection of others, and these rebel mages were hurting people not even involved with either side in any particular bias. The Inquisition was doing what _needed_ to be done in order to restore peace, no matter how gruesome or difficult a task, and those he once considered Brothers would be dealt with in exactly the same terms. That was why he was here, and he would see it through to the bitter end.

After a while the mages stopped pressing their attack, and Cullen blinked away the sweat that had begun to drip from his forehead to focus on those hanging back in the nooks and other tunnels past the open area beyond them. Five was all that remained of the large group- five men that would still rather die than disarm. Advancing would provide the opportunity that Cullen had been prepping for: To guide the fight towards involving Fay more heavily in standing against people rather than demons, and breaking through her inability to step in to make the final blow when it mattered.

Cullen’s heart wrenched at the idea of having to be the one to darken her spirit. But if he didn’t do it now, would any of the others have it in them to? How long could they cover and keep her alive before the unthinkable happened if Fay refused to preserve herself or them?

“Cassandra far left, Varric you take the other with the Seeker, Solas with me for those three... you too Fay” Cullen directed.

_‘Let the blade pass through the flesh, let my blood touch the ground, let my cries touch their hearts.’_

The warriors charged, a synchronisation of provoking battle cries, bolts flying and ice smashing echoing around the cave. Concentrating on nothing else but the mage directly in front of him, his senses bristled at he incoming blow from his side. Every part of his being screamed at him to turn, but he had already accepted that it was now or never. He heard a small gasp from Fay, felt the gathering of magic in the air as Solas readied the rapid barrier he had asked of him just in case, and sent an apology to Mia, Branson and Rosalie.

_‘Let mine be the last sacrifice.’_


	13. Chapter 13

Fay sat by the gurgling stream and looked out dazedly across the peaceful farmstead. Their party had made their weary way to the small camp they had established here a few days ago as it was closer to the mages’ cave hideout than Harding’s outpost, and Cassandra was hopeful that she could talk Master Dennet around to lending them a few horses for the journey to Haven. They were finally going back... to the small icy village she now considered her home away from home, and she was in no  way returning as the same person as she had left it. Fay had stayed in the cool water until the pads of her fingers wrinkled like shelled walnuts, but even with the blood and gore gone she did not feel clean. Would she ever? How did these people do this all the time?

Someone approached, deliberately snapping a branch underfoot, but she was too exhausted and shell-shocked to care about what little dignity she had left sitting on the grass bank in her underwear. The doctors had taken that from her years ago with all the examinations she had undergone; besides, the only person who did not seem to know was the Commander, and she did not think he would have the audacity to face her right now.

Her hands clenched into fists and the mark on her palm flickered seemingly in response to her anger. He had deceived her. He had left himself open to attack so that she had to make a decision to strike out, or watch him die for her cowardice. It had all happened so fast, and only in looking back with the horrific scene playing over and over in her mind had she realised: The Commander had intentionally angled away from the man coming at him, his shoulders hunching as if expecting the staff-blade to connect with his neck as the mage intended... The bastard had set her up.

“Fay? You have been out here some time and I was concerned.”

It was Solas, which she was not expecting. The elf seemed quiet and caring, but she had not really spent a lot of time with him personally, and she immediately felt bad for that. He had healed her wounds without a second thought, and when enquiring about her scars had been intrigued yet carefully considerate with his questions, and not disgusted by the sight as so many were.

Solas was impartial as any healer should be and Fay did not feel uncomfortable sitting naked in front of him- he knew the reason behind the scars and did not judge or belittle her for them. I bet _he_ would, she thought, the sneaky, backstabbing, lying rat. Just like Andrew. The mark burned hotter with her growing ire and she let out a small cry of pain, tears welling in her eyes.

“You must calm down, Fay. In your distress you are somehow drawing power from the fade, which although fascinating for a non-mage, is also very dangerous when not controlled.”

“I-I can’t... I, please Solas...”

He knelt beside her and took her closed fist in his hands with an imploring look.

“I can help, if you trust me” he said.

Fay nodded, starting to panic as every muscle in her body tightened and the sickly green glow from her hand brightened.

“I’m sorry” she managed to choke out.

“Copy my breathing- in, hold it, one, two, three, four, five; and out, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.”

She did as he instructed and repeated the cycle until she started to relax and the rigidity eased.

“Good” Solas smiled, though his grey eyes were still clouded with worry, “I will strengthen the ward over the mark that stops it from spreading from your hand, and try to nullify its activity.”

Gently prising her fingers open, he placed his own palm a few inches above hers and Fay could feel the hum of his magic as it slowly contained the unwanted power. They both let out a sigh of relief as it faded back to a level of neutrality.

“There is no need to be sorry, it is I who am sorry for what took place today da’len, but we must find a way to prevent this in future. I do not know why it is doing this now and not before- perhaps because you have used the magic of the mark with a higher frequency since we came here.”

“I know what caused this... episode, I just couldn’t seem to stop it.”

“You hold a lot of sorrow Fay, some you manage to let out, some that still bubbles away inside of you waiting for release. I empathise with your plight- your confusion, anger, fear, remorse... if there is anything I can do you need only ask.”

“Thank you, Solas. There is one thing I need to do, now that I think of it.” Fay reached for her tunic and trousers drying on the slope at her side. “It’s utterly childish, but it will help me feel a whole lot better.”


	14. Chapter 14

Cullen lay with his arm covering his eyes and bit back a groan as the tremors shuddered through his body. He knew there was nothing he could do except wait for the session of withdrawal to pass, which had not been helped by today’s huge expenditure of the lyrium still lingering in his system. It had been too much, but he would endure- he _could_ do this. He would not betray his principles and give in to the seductive call of the substance that had controlled him for over half his life.

Seeker Cassandra had not lectured him on their arrival at the camp situated just to the east of Dennet’s farm, but had instead guided him into a tent and told the others that they needed to compile a letter to return to Leliana and Josephine back at Haven. She had examined him, opening and shutting her mouth a few times to say something, before letting out a long sigh and telling him to rest. In his lethargic state he was not about to argue, and was grateful that she had let him off lightly.

A rustle of canvas alerted him of a visitor’s presence.

“Out!” Cullen barked irritably and waited to hear an apology and retreat; it seemed his luck had run dry.

“Commander.”

Cullen shot upright, clamping his tongue between teeth in an effort not to exclaim aloud at the brutalising agony his head and body were in. Fumbling to pull on his linen shirt, still damp with the uncontrollable cold sweat soaking him, Fay watched him dress with a nonchalant expression. But there was a definite splash of red across her fair cheeks as her attention flitted from his face to his bare torso.

“Fay, I-I’m sorry, but now is really not a good time.”

“I will be brief” she said and gave a small smile.

Detecting a dangerous edge to her voice Cullen froze guiltily. There was no backing out of this now, no-one else to diffuse the situation... She closed the distance between them and although he felt that he should stand as was proper etiquette, there was no way he was going to manage that in his current state. Another tremor ran through him and all he could do was look up at her in thinly veiled despair. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, particularly _her_ , Cullen realised.

Fay reached out to touch his forehead, her hand soft and warm against his clammy skin, and he couldn’t stop himself staring at her lips, so full and pink, as she fretted the bottom one with her teeth.

“Are you well Commander?”

So, he was back to being addressed as Commander after all. A pity, he thought, he kind of liked the way his name had sounded when she spoke it- but that was silly and inconsequential. What is your problem Rutherford? You’re a fully grown man and not an innocent chantry boy who trips over his feet at every pretty face and intelligent woman that passes by.

“I’m fine, thank you... What did you wish to speak about _briefly_?” he asked, more cutting and sarcastic than he meant. His vision was flashing with white spots through the pounding in his head, and in truth he just wanted her out so that he could suffer in peace. Fay remained stoic, leaning so close that he could feel her breath tickling against his face and he swallowed thickly, enraptured by her lips. He wanted to... she was right there, and... Maker, now was certainly not the time or place for inappropriate thoughts like that.

“Were you injured during the fight?” Fay asked and he tore his gaze from her lips once more, stumbling to make sense of what she had just said in his fuzzy-headed distraction.

“Erm, sorry, I-I... what?”

“Were you hurt?”

“Oh, no. W-why do you ask?”

It took a few seconds to register the burning pain across his cheek that followed the deafening slap.

“So that I wouldn’t feel bad for doing that” she hissed at him angrily.

Cullen grabbed her arm firmly as she straightened to storm out of his tent, the movement sending another bolt of pain jarring at his temples.

“Wait, please, Fay” he pleaded, “I knew you would be angry but-”

“You knew I would be angry” she repeated, her voice raising with the onset of furious hysteria.

He released her arm and felt his own temper boiling.

“Yes, but you are stubborn and refuse to see what has to be done- this is not your world, things are not the same here whether you like that or not” he retorted.

“Really? Thank you for pointing that out, I hadn’t realised that I had been ripped from everything I knew and loved. Silly me...”

Cullen’s frustration cooled; he hadn’t meant to hurt her by reminding her of what she had lost, especially knowing that she would likely not see her daughter again.

“Think about it from my point of view for a moment” he said.

“From your...” she laughed sharply in disbelief, shaking her head. “Go on then, I’ll bite. Why was it so important for you to break me, to turn me into one of your mindless soldiers who have no qualms about killing people?”

“It’s not like that! You are important, more than you may realise, and if you carry on unable to fight back, and yes, kill those who oppose you, then you _will_ end up dead. I can’t, I won’t let that happen!”

“You fucking bastard” Fay growled, “you _lied_ to me, and made me do something that makes me sick to the stomach, without even caring how I have to deal with this on top of everything else. I wanted to help, people died at the hands of some fucking murderer in that explosion and your great idea was to turn me into a fucking murderer too... Twisted fucking logic.”

For a woman normally pleasant and well-spoken, Fay swore a lot when she was upset, Cullen reflected.

She would never see his reasoning; her upbringing was obviously too far removed from this. He didn’t even know how she was brought up, what her parents were like, or what she used to do... Cullen sighed, the chance that she would ever open up to him was a lost cause now, and the notion saddened him more than he was willing to admit.

“I don’t want you to die” he said quietly, “and it is _because_ I care that I did this. I know you won’t see it like that, and all I can say is I’m sorry.”

He expected another slap, or at least for her to shout at him further, but she simply walked out of the tent with her hands clutched at her sides, the green magic of the mark dancing from between her fingers. Collapsing back onto his bedroll, Cullen rubbed at his temples and groaned. Leliana had agreed with him, and even that elven apostate Solas... She just needed more time- maybe one day she would forgive him.


	15. Chapter 15

The return to Haven was uneventful- the mark showing no more signs of misbehaving because of her rancour, at least for now - and as usual Fay spent far more time imbibing alcohol each night than she knew she should. But, that was how she coped, wasn’t it? By dulling her senses and shutting away the parts that hurt... she was an expert at that, she had done it for years in her previous life.

She ran a hand through her tangles absently and sighed, staring out across the beauty of the frozen lake, before focusing up at the jagged imperfection of the breach still visible in the sky. These people did not a drunkard wallowing in self-pity, they needed someone strong and reliable. Fay snorted, well they couldn’t have got a worse candidate for saving the world if they tried.

“May I sit?”

Fay jumped at Solas’ request.

“Fucking hell, if closing that thing” she tilted her head at the breach, “doesn’t kill me, then people sneaking up on me surely will.”

“I apologise, I did call your name.”

“It’s okay Solas, I’ve just been... hmm, never mind.”

She patted the jetty beside her and pulled her knees to her chest, huddling against the cold with her arms wrapped around her.

“You come to this spot often when we are here in Haven” Solas stated as he lowered himself beside her.

“Yes, there wasn’t anything like this where I used to live, and it’s quiet here.”

“You don’t talk about your home much.”

“I don’t have a home, not anymore.”

Solas studied her for a moment as she pictured the fields and parks that had surrounded their house, a modest two-bedroom mid-terrace with a small garden, the shops lining the roads she drove to work, her favourite café, even her daughter’s school.

“You were a scholar?” he asked, breaking her reverie.

“Hah! Not really, no. I worked in an office with a lot of other people for a company that- well it doesn’t matter what they did. But, I wrote in my spare time, and I loved to read... I used to draw too, although I was never very good at it.”

“Good or bad are subjective, especially so in the name of art.”

Fay laughed, “Yes, I suppose that’s true. There were certainly some questionable pieces of artwork that the masses seemed to love, though for the life of  me I could never see why. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say.”

“Would you show me?” Solas asked tentatively.

“If I could, I would but-”

“There is a way, and it may help in some way to getting through this... adjustment. You are aware that I am capable of walking the fade when I sleep?”

Fay nodded, Solas had shared a few fascinating if not incomprehensible stories of talking to spirits and seeing echoes of history on his travels.

“If invited, I can also enter someone’s dream and experience it with them, help them to shape it. As much as it is also to sate my curiosity, there is a reason for my request: Back in the Hinterlands before your altercation with the Commander, you drew power from the fade without knowing how. I would like to assess exactly how strong your connection is, so that I may think upon how to prevent it happening again unbidden.”

It made sense, though there was still some apprehension- her dreams were not pleasant of late.

“Alright” she agreed. “How does it work? Is it like saying Bloody Mary in a mirror three times and you appear?” Fay gave a small chuckle and then shuddered; that was really not the best comparison to give when basically agreeing to have someone invade your head.

Solas gave a sly grin, “Possibly...” he said. “If I knew what that was of course.”

“Probably best you don’t for now.”


	16. Chapter 16

The night spent with Solas in the fade was actually enjoyable, and Fay found herself laughing a lot at his wide eyes and constant flow of questions about, well, everything. To her, of course, a car, a skyscraper, or even an airplane was nothing special, but having lived in Thedas for a month or more, where in comparison things were a lot more ‘back to basics’, she could understand his amazement; most of which seemed to hinge around the fact that there was no magic controlling a lot of things- though science and engineering could be considered a form of magic to those unaccustomed to experiencing them on a daily basis.

They ended up sitting on a bench by the lake near to home, and she turned to him wringing her hands with concern.

“I want to see her” she told him.

“Very well, all you have to do is remember like before.”

“I-I’m scared to” Fay admitted.

“If you are not ready, we can always come back another night. There is no rush to do this da’len.”

She tilted her head at him and smiled.

“You’ve called me that before, what does it mean?”

“Oh, well I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but it is an endearment. It means ‘little one’ or ‘child’ in common speak.”

“An endearment? I hardly think I’ve deserved that, but... thank you.”

Solas chuckled softly, “You are too hard on yourself, there are many that wish the best for you and not only because you hold the key to their salvation.”

She snorted and shook her head, “I’m a stranger to them, why would they care?”

“Because you have a rare spirit. Instead of turning your back on people you owe nothing, you offered your help. And, although you may have difficulty finding a way of coping with things- which is understandable after what happened to you, not only recently but also before - you have a kind heart. If you let more people in, you would have more support for your problems.”

“Old habits die hard.”

Fay groaned and scrubbed at her face in annoyance. “You’re right, I-I just... I will keep trying.”

“And the drinking?”

She felt herself blush, which was ridiculous, she thought in a flash of anger. But hadn’t she come to the same conclusion prior to their meeting earlier today?   

“I- agh! Yes, I know. It’s not good to numb myself to things I can’t think about, I just don’t know what else I can do.”

“Maybe you could find another outlet? You said you wrote, drew- perhaps you could take them back up?”

Fay laughed, “You’re saying I need a hobby.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“You’re right, as usual... That can be quite annoying sometimes you know” she huffed.

Standing with his hands clasped behind his back he smirked down at her. “I am aware.”

Fay took a deep breath and closed her eyes, feeling the fade morph and brush against them like walking through the tendrils of early morning mist. She knew she did not have anything to fear, Solas had already assured her that the risk of possessions and harm by demons that mages faced was not something she would have to contend with as someone without magic, but for a moment she did not want to open them back up again. Long fingers touched her hand gently and Solas’ voice murmured to her in encouragement.

“If you want to do this Fay, you can- for you and for her.”

He was right, she needed to see Rebecca and so she would. There was her house in front of them, Andrew’s blue Honda parked on the driveway and her key gripped in her hand. She approached the door, unlocked it, and pushed it open to see the hardwood flooring of her living room, the dark brown sofas that she always hated and had wanted to replace, and the small table and chair by the stairs where Rebecca sat to do her drawing. Solas followed her silently upwards, putting a hand to the small of her back when she paused at the top.

“I didn’t want him to be here, can’t you make him go away?” her voice cracked as she spotted Andrew sitting at his desk by the window in what had been their bedroom straight ahead. “He wasn’t even here in the end, he left and... I don’t want him here Solas.”

“Of course.”

And it was that simple, for the Dreamer anyway. The figure of the man she loved and hated in equal measure disappeared, leaving her to focus on the door at the end of the narrow hallway. She ran forwards and flung it wide, issuing a sob at the sight of Rebecca sitting on the carpet playing with her panda teddy and tea set. Dropping to her knees beside her, she studied her face through the tears; Rebecca's eyes the same shade of brilliant blue as her own, her button nose, the dimple on her cheek as she smiled and chatted away in her game. Fay didn’t want to forget anything.

“She is beautiful, da’len. How old is she?”

“Five. It- it would be her Birthday in a few months.”

“I’m sorry” he said with a sad sincerity.

“I know this is just a dream, my dream, but I love you Rebecca. Please don’t ever forget that.”

 “She will not forget, just as you will always hold her with you wherever you are.”

“I hope you’re right Solas.”


	17. Chapter 17

Haven was now a hive of activity since an influx of refugees and recruits sent by Corporal Vale from the Crossroads. The main party responsible for increasing the Inquisition’s influence in Ferelden – namely Fay, Seeker Cassandra, Varric and Solas – had not long returned from another long excursion through the  Hinterlands to a meeting with the chantry clerics at Val Royeaux. They had garnered the services of a few more able fighters along the way: A Grey Warden named Blackwall, enchanter Vivienne who served the court of Empress Celene, a mercenary company led by a Qunari known as The Iron Bull, and a peculiar elf called Sera who had some connection to the group of rogues known as ‘The Friends of Red Jenny’.

Their reach was extending, and Cullen would have been more optimistic of a successful outcome to their venture if not for the troubling news of Lord Seeker Lucius’ actions and the withdrawal of the remaining Templars to an undisclosed and, so far, undiscovered location. The world truly had gone mad, and if the news had not been sent ahead by Leliana’s agents, he would not have believed it.

Approaching the mages in Redcliffe, after Grand Enchanter Fiona’s invitation, was becoming the most sought after resolution to powering up Fay’s mark enough to seal the breach, though he was loathe for them to follow that route if it could be helped- in his mind supressing the magic of the breach was the safer option. But a decision needed to be made, and soon.

Traipsing up towards the chantry for another long meeting talking in circles, Cullen heard a familiar voice in the healer’s tent and stopped.

“Surely there must be something-“

“I’m sorry, da’len.”

Slipping inside, Cullen saw Solas standing with Fay, a distraught look on her face, and the elf with his hand placed comfortingly upon her shoulder. She did not notice his intrusion and walked past the rows of cots to one at the end occupied by a young elven boy around six or seven years old. The lad was sickly wan, thin from undernourishment, and struggling for breath. Cullen felt he should leave, that Fay wouldn’t want him here, but something kept him surveying the quiet scene. The boy was dying, that was clear, and if the snatch of conversation he had overheard was correct then there was nothing that could be done to save him.

“Commander” Solas said quietly under his breath, a mournful look in his own eyes as he watched Fay sit down by the boy’s bedside and take his hand.

“He can’t be healed?”

“No.”

“Where are his parents?”

“Dead. He was taken in by Inquisition soldiers at the Crossroads, but it was already too late.”

“I... I see.”

“He is close to her daughter’s age” Solas offered in explanation, and Cullen winced, rubbing at the back of his neck as the information sank in.

The boy coughed weakly and smiled up at Fay as she engaged him in conversation to take his mind off the pain otherwise etched upon his face.

“We need to do more” Cullen muttered and shook his head.

Solas regarded him with interest for a moment and nodded.

“I hope the Inquisition will try to help all, no matter their race or ability Commander; though that is no small task. For now, it would be nice to see those suffering have some deserved happiness before the end... including Fay.”

Cullen exhaled sharply and found himself gripping the pommel of his sword in reflexive need of support.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“She fears closing the breach will be too much, and as we do not know the effect it will have on her it is a possibility. There is a small thing I would like to do for her, but after your- lets call it a difference of opinion - I feel it would be better coming from you. Perhaps it is something we could discuss later?”

Cullen swallowed thickly, he had not fully considered the thought that their goal of sealing the breach for good could mean handing Fay a fate of inescapable sacrifice. But she knew, and she stayed...

“Why?”

“Why does she help us knowing it could kill her?”

Fay lay on the small bed next to the boy and hugged his fragile body gently to her, stroking his hair and talking softly. There was still a smile on his face and his demeanour was calm. Cullen could see that he was rapidly slipping away.

“From what she has told me and what I have seen, Fay has not had an easy life. She knows great pain, loss, and hopelessness. Although sometimes she does not seem to be coping well with her own inner demons, she endures and carries on to do what is needed. Fay cares enough to not want others to have to suffer what she has been through, and so she fights for us.”

Her wavering song interrupted their murmuring, and Cullen saw Fay properly for the first time since her arrival: A mother taken from her family, scared and heartbroken, yet also a woman who wanted to do what was right and protect others from harm, just as Cullen also desired when putting his own life on hold all those years ago. He had some understanding of the sorrow, the loneliness and the uncertainty.

‘The deep dark before dawn’s first light seems eternal, but know that the sun always rises’ he prayed, bowing his head and listening to Fay sing for the child now dead in her embrace.

_Goodnight, my angel,_

_Now it’s time to sleep,_

_And still so many things I want to say._

_Remember all the songs you sang for me,_

_When we went sailing on an emerald bay._

_And like a boat out on the ocean,_

_I’m rocking you to sleep._

_The water’s dark,_

_And deep inside this ancient heart,_

_You’ll always be a part of me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel) by Billy Joel


	18. Chapter 18

Fay was not entirely shocked to look up to find the Commander standing next to Solas, but she had not been expecting to see grief glistening in his amber eyes. Carefully extricating herself from the cot and covering the boy, Nerian, with a thin woollen blanket, she took a moment to compose herself. Since arriving in Thedas she had seen so much death, and even contributed to the toll recently, that it made her sincerely wonder if it could ever be any different.

Orphans were increasingly common-place, but she had to hold onto the hope that in some small way she could make some of their lives better. If her own daughter had ever found herself alone in the middle of a conflict, surely there was enough humanity left in people that would have ensured someone would take care of her? Strangely, looking at the elf and the man waiting for her, she settled on the certainty that there probably would be. She could do not different, it was not in her to ignore their plight.

“Solas, please would you excuse me?”

“Of course, Fay, until later.”

Solas gave a parting nod to each of them before walking over to one of the healers near Nerian’s bedside, undoubtedly to make some form of arrangement for his burial or cremation. Fay could not stand to look at the boy’s still form any longer and turned away, a few hot tears still coursing down her cheeks. It shouldn’t be like this, she thought, he should be with his family and not lying dead in a tent in the mountains far away from home.

The Commander cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably; Fay had been avoiding him since their return and had only spoken to him when she had to. They had started over once, before all the mess in the Hinterlands, and maybe it was time to do so again. She didn’t like the justification he had given for his deception, but weeks of further travel and fighting had driven the point home. This was not her world, and the wars waged in other lands were kept so clinical and distant back on Earth that they barely had an influence on daily life. For that she had been lucky- a luck borne of being raised in the right place at the right time, nothing else; there were plenty of others who lived as the people did here now.

“M-may I walk with you Commander?”

He said nothing, but offered his arm to her politely. She should have expected his reluctance, they did seem to constantly grate against each other with misunderstanding and differing outlooks. He led them away from the chantry and back down towards the frozen lake outside of Haven, and Fay finally plucked up the courage to break the silence between them.

“I would like to give up my cabin.”

“Oh?” he faltered and raised an eyebrow at her, “Why?”

“There are a lot of sick children and orphans at Haven, they would be better off in a cabin where it is warmer than in a tent out in the elements. I know that the Inquisition was not necessarily expecting such a lot of refugees, and I’m sure the temporary accommodation is appreciated by them, but-”

“No, that is not necessary. They can take my room.”

Fay tugged at his arm and made him stop.

“I didn’t know you had a room, I thought you slept in your tent at the training grounds?”

The Commander sighed and shook his head.

“I don’t tend to sleep a lot anyway, and I told Josephine it was not required, but you know the ambassador... As such, there is a room close to the war room in the chantry that is still empty that should suffice.”

“I-I don’t know what to say. Thank you, that’s very generous of you.”

“Fay, I’m not a complete monster. Even after... what I did. We need to aid all who come to the Inquisition for shelter, and the children are more vulnerable than most, so I agree with you. I will also speak to Josephine about securing more food and clothing, we certainly need it now and with winter due to set in...” he cut off as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.

Pulling away quickly, Fay found a spot on the snow crusted dirt to focus on and mumbled an embarrassed apology; she wasn’t sure why she had acted on impulse like that. It wasn’t like she had forgotten the choice she had made at the mage encampment, but she wanted to believe that he really wasn’t as austere as he too often seemed. A leather gloved hand cupped her chin and tilted her head so that her gaze met his. He didn’t look upset or angry, just bemused.

“I’m sorry I have been such a hassle to deal with, and for slapping you- though actually you deserved that tenfold - and for blaming you for things that aren’t always your fault, and-”

“Maker, take a breath woman” he said, giving her a smirk that pulled at the scar above his lip. “You’re right, I did deserve it. I’m sorry. Can we agree on one small thing?”

“Well, that depends” Fay said cautiously.

“That you call me Cullen- like you, I get tired of hearing the same impersonal title every day.”

“I-I think I can do that, Cullen.”

“Thank you, Fay.”

His hand fell away and his smile faded as he let out a groan. “I should have been in a meeting ages ago. If you don’t see me in an hour, come and rescue me from the inane bickering, please?”

Fay agreed, and watched as he jogged back up towards the village. It had been an emotionally exhausting day and she decided against hunting out Varric and his questionable alcohol in favour of returning to her cabin to rest. There were rumours circulating that the Inquisition leaders would be coming to an imminent decision about who to ask for help in closing the breach, and that would mean more time on the road.


	19. Chapter 19

Fay looked to each of the advisors in exasperation as they continued to argue amongst each other, resisting the urge to slip out of the war room to see how long it took any of them to actually notice her absence. Fiddling with one of the metal markers on the map laid out on the table, she thought back to their meeting with the magister Alexius in Redcliffe. The man made her skin crawl, he was devious and utterly reprehensible for what he had ordered done to the tranquil.

Somehow, he had tricked the leader of the mages to sign those sheltering within the village over into servitude to the Tevinter empire. If what Dorian and Alexius’ son, Felix, had told them was true about being responsible for the rifts that altered time, then the man had to be stopped at all costs- things had already gone too far.

But, of course, Cullen disagreed and wanted to try and meet with the Templars, now finally tracked to a place called Therinfal Redoubt, and Josephine was worried over matters of state. So, for the past ten minutes, they had been heatedly talking over one another and getting nowhere.

The marker clattered across the wood as she tossed it back in disgruntlement, and Fay felt all eyes turn to her as the room finally quieted.

“I will not let a madman take hundreds of people away to become slaves” she told them evenly, “and I was under the impression that I was called here for my input on how to proceed, so here it is: Cassandra, Varric, Solas and I saw what atrocities had been committed by this magister to the tranquil in Redcliffe, and that should be enough reason to stop him, let alone everything else. This Inquisition was formed to unite the people of Thedas and restore order- to bring back the balance of law, right and wrong. How can we turn our backs and ignore these crimes? That makes us no better than the perpetrator.”

“We aren’t ignoring it, we just can’t march into Redcliffe with an army and-”

“I wasn’t suggesting an army, Cullen. Force would only be countered with force, and as this magister is a sneaky bastard I would bet there is a larger number of Tevinter mages and soldiers in Redcliffe than we realise. We need to think smaller and smarter.”

“I agree” said Leliana.

Cullen waved his hand dismissively at the pair of them.

“The magister is holed up in the castle- a castle which has withstood countless assaults. There is no way to get to him and he knows it.”

“The magister-”

“Has out-played us” Cullen interrupted Cassandra bluntly.

“There _has_ to be a way, this is not the end of it” Fay said, though she really could not think of any recourse.

“If you go in there you’ll die...” Cullen’s voice cracked slightly and he shifted his gaze to the floor, “I won’t allow it.”

This display of anxiety from Cullen was new, he seemed almost stricken with dismay, but a small seed of spite had planted itself and made her determined to  free the mages from Alexius rather than entertain the idea of talking to the Templars. Who was he to think he could allow or not allow her to do something? She wasn’t property to be kept or passed around at whim. And wasn’t he the one who had lectured her on doing what was _needed_ when he had tricked her weeks ago? Stopping hundreds of people being coerced into a life of slavery was one of the _biggest_ needs she had come across of late, other than closing the breach that is.

“There is a way” Leliana declared triumphantly, “a secret passage for the family beneath the castle, which leads from the mill.”

She couldn’t even begin to think why Leliana would have that sort of information or how, but then as a spymaster Fay supposed that it was her job to know quirky facts about locations and people that could provide them with an advantage.

“It would be too narrow to send troops through and too risky for your agents, they’d be discovered before-“ Cullen began.

The door to the war room flew open and slammed against the stone wall with a resounding boom, revealing Dorian and a harried looking messenger a few yards behind him.

“Which is why you need me” Dorian announced with a smirk.

“Apologies, this man says he has information regarding ‘the magister’” panted the runner, giving Dorian a look of annoyance before departing again.

Cullen’s eyebrows shot upwards, and his hand hovered over the pommel of his sword at the Tevinter mage’s dramatic entrance. Fay caught the mage's eye and grinned. Dorian had let them know in Redcliffe to expect him to make contact, Fay just hadn’t expected him to burst into their meeting unannounced. He hadn't been in Haven a few hours ago she was certain, and it wasn’t like he was an easy figure to miss. His clothing was well tailored, extravagant in material and flowing style, and his black moustache perfectly shaped and groomed- if not a little ridiculous to her mind. But, there was something about his character that was enigmatic and charming, even if the others had remained more dubious than her about his intent.  

“It’s good to see you again, Dorian” Fay greeted, still grinning despite the tension hanging in the air.

“You too, darling, of course” Dorian said with a wink.

Cassandra, who had been with the group when they first met Dorian, simply rolled her eyes and focused her attention back to the magister’s invitation on the table. Leliana and Josephine recovered from their initial consternation, and slid gracefully back behind their professional facades. Cullen didn’t bother trying as far as Fay could note; his expression remained one of openly read resentment and distrust.

“We distract the magister by giving him what he wants so badly, while my agents sneak in and take out his guards. Simple enough to be effective, no?” Leliana said, directing her question to Cullen.

“I can help with that. Alexius will have several magical traps and alarms set that I can disable to get your men in safely” Dorian piped up.

Knowing he was beaten, Cullen grudgingly consented. “You suggest using Fay as bait... it-it could work.”

“Then are we actually agreed?” Cassandra asked with a hint of relief.

“It would appear so” said Josephine with a polite smile, scribbling frantic notes on her clipboard.

“Well, there’s another miracle right there” Fay muttered, and heard Dorian let out a snicker. “Come, let’s find Varric- I think he had a nickname picked out for you already.”

“Then I must have left an impression, which is only natural given my wit, charm, good looks, and superb taste in fashion.”

“And humility in droves, Dorian, don’t ever forget that” Fay added with mock seriousness.


	20. Chapter 20

Cullen could not shake loose the cloak of foreboding that settled over him about sending Fay into a veritable pit of vipers. Alexius’ men were ruthless and apathetic, with fangs sunk so deeply into Redcliffe that the Arl had abandoned his castle along with his people to an immutable, sickening fate. And to send her in with that arrogant Tevinter mage who had disregarded the Inquisition leaders’ privacy and authority... He slammed the surface of his desk with the flat of his palms and stood bent over the requisitions and reports still to be read. Maker preserve him, what were they thinking? This mission was madness.

His eye caught the string bound package wrapped in parchment that had been delivered earlier in the day. It was the gift he and Solas had arranged to procure through Josephine. Maybe now would be best time to give it to Fay in case of- no, she would come back, she has to. Thinking like that is useless, he scolded himself. But, what if... Snatching the package up from the table Cullen left his tent. Perhaps he could talk to Fay, reason with her, he thought. He should at least try.

Cullen was glad to see that Fay was alone in her cabin when she opened the door to his knock. Though the absence of their uninvited Tevinter guest was also a little disconcerting. Leliana’s agents would keep a watch on him; the spymaster was not in the habit of allowing people to walk around Haven unchecked. Especially not someone who’s background would be difficult to ascertain at short notice. No doubt that was intentional on the mage’s part. Cullen made a conscious effort to unclench his jaw as Fay observed his rankled expression with a modicum of worry.

“Apologies Her- Fay, I was erm, thinking of something else.”

“Something that has you irritated; I hope it was not something I said or did.”

“Oh. No, not at all.”

“Then it is Dorian” she concluded.

“Perhaps” Cullen replied, “may I come in for a moment to speak with you in private?”

She offered him a chair at the table by the window, and closed the door against the persistent chill.

“I don’t want to hear anything against Dorian, so if that is what you’re here for...” Fay warned as she sat, crossing her arms and giving him a stern look.

“Actually, I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

Rather than speak, and potentially dig himself into a hole as he seemed apt to do, Cullen offered her the package and waited for Fay to open it. Why was he so anxious? Solas had deemed this a thoughtful gift with nothing that could possibly go wrong... and if it did, then he could always just tell her that it wasn’t all his fault. Which wouldn’t be lying, though it would be an underhand tactic to salvage his own reputation.

“Cullen...” her voice quavered and she wasn’t looking at him.

That was a bad sign, and Maker was she crying? He was going to wring that apostate’s neck-

“It’s perfect, thank you” she said softly.

Cullen fidgeted, the speech he had rehearsed on the way over quickly forgotten.

“We, erm, Solas and I... W-what I mean to say is, Solas told me that you liked to write and draw back home. We thought that to make it easier- no, that’s not right.” He groaned and looked at her pleadingly. “I’m no good with this sort of thing, so please just let me bumble through and promise not to hit me until the end, alright?”

Fay gave a huff of laughter, wiping at her eyes and nodding at him to continue. This was ridiculous, he could lead an army, but at the moment he couldn’t string a sentence together without sounding like a village fool. Right, Rutherford, surely you can do this without putting your foot in it again. Can’t you? You like Fay enough to want her to be safe and happy- well, as happy as she could possibly be given the odd circumstances. Just... be less of a druffalo in an Orlesian dinner service shop.

“I have no experience of being taken from a child- your child... uh, you know what I mean. We thought the journal would be a good way for you to write to Rebecca and tell her about all that you’re going through. To draw pictures of the places and animals you have seen on your visits. A story to tell her if- when” Cullen blanched, but Fay did not react at his slip, “when you see her again” he finished.

He watched as her fingers traced over the embossed lettering on the cover of the leather binding, which read: ‘Tales for Rebecca.’ Solas had sent a drawing of some kind of bear- a panda? - to be printed on a panel beneath the title, which did not look like any bear that Cullen had ever seen with such strange black and white markings. Most embarrassing was his own contribution on the first page, a drawing that the elf had insisted he _had_ to include.

Opening the otherwise blank journal, Fay looked at him with blue eyes no longer twinkling with tears, but with mirth.

“Is that... a dog?”

“A mabari.”

“Why, and forgive my ignorance, but why is it dodging fireballs?”

“Combat training” he justified, and couldn’t help the boyish grin as she burst into laughter.

“Mabari are war dogs” Cullen explained once her fit quieted. “I, erm... yes, well. Solas made it clear that he would not accept any excuses, and that I had to include a drawing for Rebecca myself.”

“Oh, Cullen. So much blackmail material.”

“What?! No-”

“Relax, I’m joking. I actually think it’s cute.”

Cute wasn’t really something he would attribute to himself, but it was better than just ‘Commander’, or liar, or any other insult she had thrown at him in the past few weeks. He could live with that for now.

“I just thought it was important for you to know that we care for you- everyone here, and me. I know we’ve had arguments, but my underlying concern is for your welfare and always will be. I should try to talk you out of going to Redcliffe, but...” he paused, pushing past the hurt and bias he had clung to about the subject of going to the mages instead of the Templars. If this was the course that the Left and Right Hands of the Divine wished to pursue, then who was he to say that the Maker did not will it also? “I must trust in Cassandra, Leliana, and the other members of the Inquisition. All I want to urge is that you are careful, more than ever, that you do not separate from your support team even for a second, and... that you come back.”


	21. Chapter 21

Fay should have known that something would go wrong. There was a curse attached to her, a fate pre-destined for her life to end in a shitty, horrible way, she was sure of it. At thirty-four years of age, she had nearly succumbed to it once already when her own body turned against her. Months of horrendous treatment, years of ongoing recovery, anxiety, and disfigurement that acted as a daily reminder of the frailty of existence. Now the hex was with here with her in Thedas; a caliginous promise of misery, cruel torment, and conclusion of a job left unfinished. What else did she have to lose? Why didn’t it just get on with it already?

The patchwork, crumbling part of her soul just wanted to lie down, give up the fight and say a final ‘fuck you’ to everything. But Fay felt a responsibility to the people who had been at her side. She could not abandon them, and definitely not in this mess. There were no sounds of fighting audible, though Fay hoped it meant that Leliana’s scouts and Bull’s Chargers had slipped back through the secret tunnel rather than anything untoward. Solas, Cassandra and Iron Bull would be looking for her and were likely worried after the stunt Alexius pulled. The three of them were battle-hardened and vastly more capable than she was; they would be okay, she just had to find them.

Ankle-deep in the stagnant, filthy water flooding the dungeons of Redcliffe Castle, Fay waited as Dorian merrily rummaged through the pockets of the two dead Venatori. Alexius’ rift had deposited them in front of the guards, with Dorian thankfully the first to recover from both parties' surprise at the unexpected confrontation. The mage had swiftly disposed of them with an onslaught of fire spells before Fay had even got around to unhooking her mace and shield in some offer of support. The cloying smell made her gag, and she had a sudden appreciation for the fact that Solas primarily cast ice magic and froze their enemies rather than cooked them.

Dorian was positively quivering with excitement, voicing his ruminations about the magic or the spell- Fay was unsure whether they were technically one and the same thing - he had interrupted his former mentor from casting on her. As grateful as she was for the mage’s interference, their current situation and his unintelligible babbling about the arcane did not ease her disquiet. The atmosphere resonated with a prickly sensation that burrowed beneath her skin that, coupled with her roiling nausea, made it a struggle to concentrate and muster her remaining courage.

Breathing through her mouth and urging her stomach to settle, Fay realised with an emphatic disgust that the men’s deaths had not phased her to the extent they would have a month or so ago. Was she already becoming so numb to it all?

“Of course!” Dorian suddenly declared, holding up a bunch of iron keys. “It’s not a matter of where we are, but _when_.”

“What? You’re going to have to explain that, because nothing about any of this” Fay made a sweeping gesture around the room, “is making any sense to me. One second we were in the throne room, and then... well, here.”

“You saw yourself how the rifts Alexius caused altered time around it. When I countered him, instead of wiping you from the timeline completely, as I think he planned, we were accidently dragged through to arrive at a new point instead.”

“Wait, so you’re saying that by going through the rift we’ve gone back in time?”

“Or forwards.”

“And you don’t know which?”

Dorian shook his head, straightening from his stoop, and shrugged at her apologetically. Fay was beginning to comprehend why so many people in Thedas were petrified of magic. Like any weapon in the wrong hands, it was utterly terrifying to consider just how much potential destruction and mayhem could be wrought by one single person. A mage capable of messing with the flow of time? Even scientists back home were unable to do that.

“Great, that sounds... just fucking great. This ‘Elder One’ Alexius mentioned, any ideas on who that particular arsehole is?”

“Pfft, probably just some madman playing with magic and power he shouldn’t. Not uncommon in Tevinter unfortunately. These Venatori prove that I have idiot countrymen quick to follow any misguided cause, especially if it is willing to pay the right price.”

Appeasement, misunderstanding or confusion, love, fear, greed- many things motivated people to act. Fay had come across a newly formed cult in the south-eastern hills of the Hinterlands not long ago that actually worshipped one of the rifts as if it were a holy deity. The members blindly accepted that it was there for a divine purpose, a test of their devotion, and that by giving it their reverence it would stop sending demons through to destroy them as reward for their obedience... Until Fay had closed it with the mark and set them to helping refugees; a much higher purpose than wailing on their knees and praying to a rip in the air, in her mind anyway. If this Elder One had enough power and influence, or even just money at his disposal, Fay could see why the Venatori would possibly do his bidding.

“Don’t worry, Fay. I’m here, I’ll protect you” Dorian said, sniggering at her eye-roll.

He threw the keys over and Fay waded to the cell door, finding the right one to slot into the lock after a couple of attempts and hearing it open with a satisfying loud click. She slipped the weighty key ring into the pouch hooked to her belt for safekeeping, which also contained a few slim vials of a red liquid that everyone simply referred to as a ‘healing potion’. It was a concoction of herbs and alchemical liquids brewed by Adan that made an astonishingly strong painkiller, and somehow helped to clot large wounds. In an emergency, it gave more of a chance to receive magical aid or conventional medical assistance with stitches and bandages without bleeding to death. Fay didn’t know enough to understand how it worked exactly, as with so many other things in Thedas, but the sight of those little vials made her feel slightly better.

“Alright. We look for the others, quietly. If there are too many Venatori, then we find a way out and make our way to an Inquisition camp for reinforcements.”

Dorian nodded, and together they headed down the corridor to the stairs straight ahead of them. Opening the door at the top, Fay instantly saw why she felt so odd, and mentally kicked herself for not recognising the irritation and discomfort sooner. Red lyrium. They had come across small veins of it before in a few isolated caves, but here it covered nearly every inch of the walls, protruding with crystal growths that stretched across the passageway like talons. It was denser here than she remembered it being at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

“This is dreadful” Dorian whispered, “I heard the rumours, especially after Kirkwall... this is red lyrium isn’t it? Why is there so much of it here?”

“I don’t know, just don’t touch it. Varric did not have pleasant stories to tell me about this stuff, and it makes me feel ill just looking at it” Fay replied. “I don’t even want to think what connection this Elder One, Alexius and the Venatori have to such a vile substance. It doesn’t bode well.”


	22. Chapter 22

They found Cassandra, Solas, and The Iron Bull, and unlocked their cells, though the reunion was far from a happy one. Continued exposure to steadily increasing amounts of red lyrium over the year since their capture had infected them all with a fatal dose of the stuff. Sharp shards pierced through patches of weeping, raw skin and their movements were lumbering, obviously pained. It was consuming them from within like a tumour. Cancerous. Fay could taste the unnatural chemical, almost plastic, tang in her mouth that she associated with the thought of that disease, and swallowed a moan of revulsion.

Her companions fared better than the Grand Enchanter. They had stumbled across her first in a different wing, almost fully encased in the substance bursting out of her like a statue. But to see _them_ like this... Her friends? Her adopted family of sorts? Whatever these people were becoming to her, or had become, they were not strangers. Their suffering tore at her, and could not easily be ignored- they were dying slowly, wasting away as the red lyrium fed off them, and it was partly her fault. If she hadn’t brought them here, if she’d listened to the commander’s reservations and gone to the Templars instead... Fay bit her lip and fought to hold together the frayed ends of her unravelling composure, the mark crackling to send a surge of green energy up her arm to the shoulder.

“You must not get upset over this, da’len. Control it. If we can get the amulet back from Alexius, Dorian can reverse the spell and send you back. This will never have happened” Solas said.

He took hold of her hand, and she felt him temporarily reinforce the ward on her palm as he had after their attack on the mage encampment. Fay shivered at the alien and odious feel of his magic; it was cold and jarring, nothing like the energy she normally recognised.

“I apologise, it is an effect of the red lyrium” Solas said quietly as he felt her reaction.

Fay couldn’t find the right words to answer, but tried to convey to him that he had nothing to be sorry for with the pleading, and guilt-stricken, look she gave him. The elven mage answered with a sad smile, squeezing her hand comfortingly before stepping away.

Cassandra briefed them on the history of the year succeeding their displacement, and Fay leant against Dorian for support. He didn’t seem to mind, hugging his arm around her shoulders and pulling her tightly to his side. They were all dead, everyone- the Inquisition gone. The Elder One had ravaged the whole of Thedas, killing any who would oppose his rule and turning the rest into mindless servants. Not a single army, or nation, had persevered, and it had all happened in the space of a year.

“The Maker has seen fit to provide us with a chance to put this right; you _must_ succeed. Close the Breach, stop the Elder One from assassinating Empress Celine, and do not give him chance to raise his army of demons” Cassandra summarised bluntly.

It was no small request. Other than the strange mark on her hand, Fay didn’t know why they even believed that she could do something like that. Save the world- their world? She wasn’t strong, she couldn’t fight well, she wasn’t a mage with scary, crazy powers. She was, well, below ordinary if she was being honest, and out of her depth. But, she had to try. She had to get back if only to warn them so they could better prepare for this nightmare.

“I would rather not see an army of demons sweeping across Thedas” Dorian said. “This, this cannot come to pass.”

“Fucking demons” Bull growled and spat on the floor. “Let’s find our gear and get some payback.”

“Agreed. It would also be in our best interests to find the Nightingale, if we can” said Solas. “Then we find Alexius.”

The five of them nodded, and Dorian, Bull and Solas set to raiding armoury crates and weapon racks nearby in the dungeon for any useful equipment. Cassandra held back, grasping Fay gently around the wrist and tugging her away from the group.

“There is one thing you should know, something ahead that will be difficult to face. It’s about Cullen.” she said.

Fay didn’t want to talk about the others, she didn’t think she could cope with hearing how each one of them had met their end.

“Please, Cassandra. You said yourself that the members of the Inquisition are dead.”

“Cullen isn't dead.”

“He’s _not_ dead?” Fay felt a flutter of excitement. “Is he here, like Leliana? We could find him too, set him free to join us-”

“He laid siege to the castle with the Inquisition troops, but there weren’t enough. They quickly fell, but the commander wouldn’t give up. He suspected that we were still alive, or more to the point, that _you_ were still alive and being held prisoner by Alexius. Eventually he was outnumbered and swarmed just outside the gates, but instead of killing him the Elder One decided there was a better use for him. As his General.”

“Cassandra, what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Cullen wouldn’t turn on the Inquisition, he’s not a traitor...”

“Not willingly, no. However, when Cullen was a Templar he took lyrium daily. His body has a certain tolerance and also reliance to the substance, which made him a subject of interest for certain experiments.”

Dizziness swept over her, filling her vision with tiny white dots and a buzzing in her ears.

“Shit. Red lyrium, they gave him red lyrium.”

Cassandra’s jaw set in a hard line and she nodded.

“You said he was still alive.”

“He is.”

“Then if he’s not like Fiona, and he’s not like the three of you... just what exactly has become of him?”

“Cullen was the first Red Templar in service to the Elder One. The red lyrium twisted him into a monster. We must face him to get to Alexius, and we must kill him, or he will kill us.”


	23. Chapter 23

Leliana was gaunt, suspended from manacles hanging from the ceiling of a grimy chamber not far from the cell blocks. On hearing her voice, Cassandra had charged into the room where she was being held and taken the torturer by surprise with a yell. Fay was in time to see Leliana wrap her legs around the Venatori’s neck and snap it with a jerk, his eyes bugging and mouth open wide. There were tables laden with sharp implements and wicked tools stained a dark brown, their blades and pointed tips encrusted with a gruesome veneer of dried blood. The man deserved no pity for what he had done to the spymaster at Alexius’ behest, and Fay did not give his body a second glance as she stepped over it to unlock the clasps. Although Leliana spared them from specific details of her treatment while incarcerated, Fay’s imagination filled in the blanks vividly enough.

As they entered the inner courtyard, Fay was presented with the sombre revelation of what Thedas would look like if the breach expanded to engulf the sky in result of her failure to close it. The verdant gloom distorted the light into tenebrous eddies, drowning all traces of sun-kissed blue. Her lungs tightened at the illusion of deep ocean pressure, and she gulped down air to avoid collapsing from imagined suffocation.

“The breach is...” Fay paused, there was no singular word she could think of to cover it: Melancholy, depressing, oppressive, frightening? All of the above, and more.

“Everywhere” Dorian lamely finished for her.

Fay recalled Solas explaining a little about the spirits that were forced through from the fade, either by their own volition where the veil was thin or by someone summoning them; that they were corrupted into demons due to an inability to cope or adapt to the physical world. Was that what caused the army of demons here: The extensive bleed of the fade into reality? And if it was, just how was anyone able to control them on such a massive scale? The Elder One had to be more than just a man with contacts and financial backing, and his motives were just as much a mystery. There were many that would see the appeal of autocracy, but this was mass destruction... annihilation. There would be nothing left to reign over, so what was the point?

“Two rifts ahead. Take up positions” Cassandra called out.

Unable to make any coherence as to the Elder One’s possible end goal, aside from the chance that he could just be insane, Fay moved into the middle of the group in front of Solas and Dorian.

“Right” she said, “let’s do this then.”

“Been waiting for you to say that, boss.”

Iron Bull ploughed into the wraiths and shades, spinning around with his axe in a whirlwind attack and clearing most of the enemies of the first wave on his own. Solas erected a barrier over them all and they pushed on, shifting their positions relative to the spawn points bubbling on the ground so that the mages kept the most distance. Leliana pinned down any that started to close in around them, Dorian concentrated on strategically placing fire mines where the demons would have to cross, and Solas conjured lightning to arc from one to next. Cassandra deflected swipes away from Fay, and covered her as she battered at their targeted shade. Iron Bull had a manic grin on his face as he rampaged on to demons at the next rift as Fay closed the first, spurred on by the blood lust of his vengeance. It didn’t take long for them to clear the courtyard and climb the stairs up into the inner section of the castle.

Past the docks, and through more dank, red lyrium infested corridors, they wove their way to the main hall and throne room. The silence was interjected with Dorian asking occasional questions about Felix, but Leliana refused to answer him. They would ‘see soon enough’, and Fay couldn’t help feeling disheartened for poor Dorian; his affection for the magister’s son was tragic. Felix had clearly been ill with some wasting disease that magic couldn’t cure, and in a barren world devoid of advanced medical care, the young man would not be in a good state a year on from their initial introduction.

Fay flexed her fingers at the itching of the mark on her palm. Another rift, bigger than the last ones. They gathered at the doorway, Iron Bull reaching for the handle and angling his shoulder at the wood.

“Fay, make sure to stay close to me” Cassandra ordered.

“You mean... ?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

The Seeker expected the Commander to be nearby. Not Cullen, no. Fay could not think of him by name, only by an impersonal tag such as Venatori, Templar, bandit, demon, renegade... anything to differentiate him from the man she knew. A man to whom she could not seem to consolidate her feelings for.

“Do it, Bull” Fay said.

There was a cry to arms, a few arrows, and some hastily flung fireballs as they rushed in, but Solas’ barrier absorbed them all. With a frown betraying the effort of doing so, and an intricate motion of his staff, the spell was rejuvenated against another barrage. There were not just demons to contend with in the hall, but Venatori soldiers and mages as well.

“Solas and Dorian, focus on protection foremost until we whittle down their forces. Leliana, can you take out the spellweavers?”

“Of course, Cassandra. Leave them to me.”

The spymaster stepped into the shadows stretching across the wall and behind the pillars, interrupting the Venatori casters with perfectly timed shots as she snuck stealthily round the edge of the room. The rest of them remained at the top of the steps, not wanting to run the risk of being swarmed by moving down to the large open space where the rift floated at the centre. Iron Bull stood stalwart at the fore, with Cassandra dodging left and right to pick up any infiltrators. Solas and Dorian synchronised the rotation of their barriers in-between shocking, scorching and freezing their foes, and Fay helped with her mace and shield where she could. It was hectic, and messy.

From across the hall Fay simultaneously heard Leliana shout: “Down Fay, now!”, and the thundering stampede of something from the right. She ducked, an arrow cutting through where she had been seconds prior, and turned to follow the flightpath of the projectile. What she saw was a crimson colossus bearing down on her, the tattered fur of a distinctive cloak poking out from beneath the crystal shell. It was him. But Cullen was long gone, his once handsome features contorted by animalistic rage. Seeing that hurt more than she expected it to.

Cassandra was flung aside by the behemoth’s arm, her shield cracking with the swing. Seized by the neck, Fay was lifted up from the ground. The claws squeezing her windpipe ripped the sensitive skin, and she choked out his name, a sticky heat running down to her collarbone and pooling there. Iron Bull’s axe connected with a heavy thwack, but the commander increased his pressure rather than loosen it. Fay could do nothing except look into his eyes as she dangled in his grasp, her vision fading from grey to black.


	24. Chapter 24

He blinked, the haze over his consciousness fading. The woman in his grip was the one Corypheus wanted him to kill, of that he was certain. The mark on her hand containing a piece of the magic that had created the breach identified her as the interloper, pretender, false herald. That wasn’t right though, was it? A snippet of a sorrowful song jolted through his head- her voice, quivering with soft sorrow, yet clear and precise. He could hear her crying, shouting and arguing, bright sparks of laughter... It was her laughter that had been precious and rare. Fay, he remembered. Her name is Fay. The man he had been was many things, not all of them commendable, but she had sometimes called him Cullen, and that had made him glad.

Cullen eased Fay down and released her, staring at the damage his crystalline claws had done with guilt. Blood mingled with red lyrium on both her neck and on his hands. He had sworn to the Elder One to end her life, given in to the song and become a puppet to a new master. But Fay couldn’t go like this, not because of him. Her welfare and happiness had been the sole reason he had ended up at Redcliffe in a feckless move to save her if he could, not to kill her. The red poison had made him forget, the siren’s call dividing his morality even now. He had failed her, the Inquisition, and abandoned his duty. _You owe it to the Elder One_. No, you owed her and you harmed her. _Kill her, finish your task_.

“No!” he roared.

Cassandra had re-joined the group, and was staying Iron Bull’s retaliation with a hand on his bicep. The last axe chop had sunk into his side, but there was no pain. There never was.

“Cullen?” the Seeker queried.

Solas knelt over Fay, hastily pushing his healing into mending the gashes. Dorian uncorked some healing potions, supporting her head in his lap so that he could tip the contents into her mouth. She coughed, but kept the liquid down, the skin slowly knitting back together and her colour returning.

“There isn’t a way I know of to rid her of the red lyrium. But if we go back, the infection won’t be there, will it?” he heard the Tevinter mage say in alarm.

“It is not that easy... Fay isn’t meant to be here at all.” Solas answered seriously. “We are dealing with alternate realities. Who is to say that an injury sustained here will not prevail?”

“And who is to say that it will?” Dorian argued.

_Her death would be a mercy now_. Shut up! Fay could beat this, she will be alright. _She is lost, a soul adrift within the insurmountable swell_. _Insignificant_. No, she is more than that. More than me. She will endure.

“Cullen?” Cassandra repeated. The Seeker pointed the tip of her sword towards the rift in the hall, directing their attention to  another wave of demons preparing to come through. “Are you still in there somewhere, Commander?”

“Help. Then... kill. Me.”

A few rasping words were all he could manage, their formation unnatural on his tongue. Cassandra and Bull  glanced at each other uncomfortably with wary acceptance, his message at least understood.

“This is fucking weird” grunted Bull, hefting his axe up onto his shoulder, “but if you don’t turn on us, I’ll make sure to make it as painless as I can.”

“Song. Head.” Cullen said to him emphatically.

“Cleave your head in afterwards. Got it.”

Cassandra gave the Qunari a scowl of disapproval,  but Cullen was thankful for the mercenary warrior’s strict response. The mist was descending, and the song would indeed take him again when he no longer had the mental resolve left to hold it back. Cullen wasn’t sure how long it would last. The beast was prowling, ready to spring to the surface. Solas and Dorian were tending to Fay, and although they were frightened about the possibility of her being affected by the blood contact to red lyrium, she was swiftly recovering from his assault. Fay was in good hands with them; better than in his. He was sorry, and though it was to late to atone for succumbing to weakness, Cullen would make his pitiful death count against Corypheus and Alexius if he could.

The behemoth howled, and Cullen matched its maddening cry in a broken duality of self. _Soon_. He summoned a huge wall of red lyrium and circled it around Fay’s group, trapping them inside and blocking all access by the demons slithering their way up from the rift. The irony of the tainted energy finally being used for one good deed was not lost to him. Leliana’s arrows sailed across from her vantage point at the opposite side of the hall, piercing into the shades as he smashed them into the stone tiles. Hooked, elongated talons tried to find purchase against his armoured shell and crystal shards scattered as they were peeled free. Blighted flesh was sliced open, but there was no pain. There never was. Cullen shook the terrors and shades from his body and stomped on them, pounded them under his fists, and hollered.

He let the wall crumble as the final demon disintegrated with a shriek. The rift snapped shut, the mark on Fay’s hand connecting with a stream of magic that sapped it of power. Cullen was aghast to see that it was now a contrast of the two colours, a buzz of red intertwining with the green. Any apology would be hollow; his regret was worthless, just as he was. Bowing his head, he called to The Iron Bull: “Now. Bull.”

“Cullen!”

Fay’s voice was the last thing he heard.


	25. Chapter 25

As they were pulled back through the time rift into the throne room of present-day Thedas, Dorian knew better than to stop Fay storming over to Alexius and venting her fury with a punch square to his face. The others looked on, stunned at her uncharacteristic show of violence.

“You’ll have to do better than that” Dorian taunted his former mentor.

Alexius’ shoulders slumped in defeat, blood dripping from his nose, and Felix’s face was awash with relief that the uneasy situation was all over with. He nodded to Fay in thanks, which she returned stiffly, before turning her back and picking out a few of Leliana’s men. She wasn’t in a hurry to see more death today, and they had killed the magister once already.

“Take him away” she ordered the hooded agents.

The mark sparked in her hand, red and green, and she took a moment to tamp it back down again. Solas appeared at her side, his large eyes wide as he spotted the red lyrium taint.

“It’s fine, I got this” Fay said, finding the connection to the fade established by the mark and severing it without his assistance.

Two useful things, albeit disturbing and terrifying, had come with her out of the hell she had been through. First, was an understanding of why the mark reacted as it did. Before the end, Solas and Dorian had excitedly worked out that the mark drew energy from the fade as a mechanism of self defence- of _her_ doing. Under control, it would eventually enable Fay to unleash a devastating attack, for which an enormous amount of power was required. The mark’s connection to the fade meant that it existed in both places at once; a supernatural battery gradually storing more mana than a mage could, for that exact eventuality, and without killing her in the process.

The second, was the red lyrium in her blood. Her body had altered and absorbed it, in a way she guessed that the people of Thedas just couldn’t without sickening or turning into monsters like Cullen. It was fused into her being, to the very soul if there was one, and with its dirty power she was bestowed a new awareness of the world around her. Her body, her blood, thrummed with energy like a magic caster. Fay could call upon and shape the red from the inside out- not something that was going to go down well with the rest of the Inquisition. She could picture the smug, ‘I told you all’ face that Chancellor Roderick would have if he found out.

“You- you have red lyrium in you?”

Solas’ magic tumbled over and through her body haphazardly to check what he was picking up on. Fay was glad that it was no longer grating, but she swatted his intrusion away with a sigh.

“Apparently, and I’m going to need your help with that.”

“How is it...” he faltered and took a step back, “You have an aura, one that wasn’t there before. The red lyrium did this?”

"Long story short, we were sent forward in time and it was not pleasant. Cullen nearly killed me, and infected me when he nearly tore my throat out. Turns out not being from here has some benefits. My body fought and, well, adapted to it. You explained it to me much better than I can to you.”

Fay concentrated, and the power buzzed at her fingertips. She held it there for a second, the red dancing with her heartbeat, before letting it disappear again. Solas exhaled with a low whistle, jumping slightly at Cassandra’s worried voice behind.

“What in the Maker’s name was that?”

“Cassandra...” Fay began, but was interrupted by the stomping of armoured boots.

“I was almost going to say that I was glad all this rot couldn’t get any worse” Dorian whispered to her.

She nudged him with her elbow, watching the soldiers lining up along the length of the hall. They were not Inquisition soldiers, and bore no insignia that she could discern. At least they weren’t Venatori, she’d had a gut-full of them for a while. The Grand Enchanter, Fiona, had moved forwards to greet the blond-haired man in simple leathers swaggering down the hall towards them. None of the rest of her companions seemed on guard, so Fay could only assume that they were not in danger from whoever this was.

“Grand Enchanter. Imagine how surprised I was to hear you’d given Redcliffe castle away to a Tevinter magister” the man said, giving the cowed woman now bowing before him a stern look.

“King Alistair-”

“Especially since I’m fairly sure, and correct me if I’m wrong, that Redcliffe belongs to Arl Teagan.”

“Your Majesty, we never intended...”

Fay stopped listening and edged away to the side of the hall, sitting in a far dusty corner with her chin resting on her knees. Fiona would have lots of excuses for what she did, selling her people out, and Fay wasn’t interested in hearing them. Cassandra would decide what to do with the mages now that they were free to help them. She wanted no part in it. In any of it.

Her friends had sacrificed themselves to save her, and she had seen their corpses thrown aside by the demons breaking through the door. Now they were here, alive and well as if nothing had happened. Because it hadn’t. Yet she found herself left with a bunch of weird abilities, messed up blood that who knew what it would do to her in the end, and flashbacks from what she and Dorian had literally just stepped away from. A whole world reliant on her, and all she wanted was to go home to her little girl.

If she had worked it out correctly from the calendar she had studied in Josephine’s office before they had set out for this excursion, it was Rebecca’s birthday. Six years old today, and the man who reminded her so much of Andrew, her daughter's father and pig of a husband, had nearly killed Fay. Life enjoyed doing things like that to her.

“Ah, erm, are you alright?” a man asked her quietly.

Fay looked up to find the king leaning against a pillar close by, arms folded across his chest. The hall behind him was empty- when had that happened?

“Embarrassingly, I find myself not knowing your name,” he continued, “unless it truly is ‘The Herald’. I doubt that though, you’re too beautiful for your parents to have been so cruel.”

“Fay” she answered him, “And Josephine will have my head for not bowing to you, or curtseying, or something... I’m sorry, I just- it has been a very stressful day.”

He waved away her concern. “I didn’t come over to chastise you. I just wondered if you wanted to talk about it.”

“Your Majesty?”

“Call me Alistair, please. I know that look” he said accusingly. “I had that same look a lot myself. Morrigan certainly seemed to think it warranted making constant snide comments about. At any rate, you look like you could do with confiding in someone about whatever is troubling you.”

“Alistair, that’s very kind-”

“Do you like cheese?”

Fay laughed. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Cheese” Alistair repeated with his head tilted, his smile causing a small dimple on his cheek.

“For a king, he’s adorable.” Fay’s face flushed red hot. “Shit, I said that out loud didn’t I?”

Alistair doubled over giggling. “Priceless” he gasped, “Oh, my!”

“Cheese, yes I like cheese” she said quickly. “Is that some sort of bribery request for my awful manners?”

“Cheese. Wine. Talk” he stated with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “Join me, come on.”

She could hardly refuse.


	26. Chapter 26

Alistair took Fay to his guest quarters on the top floor of the castle, ducking away for a short while to organise his soldiers and relay a message to Cassandra. His room was remarkably ordinary, with no sign of any opulent trophies or ornaments as she had half expected. The furniture was solid and practical: A long dining table with six chairs of dark polished wood, a four-poster bed, a couple of high-backed benches scattered with tapestry covered cushions, a couch, a rocker by the masonry fireplace, two narrow wardrobes, a chest of drawers and several ottomans for storage. The colour scheme was an array of reds, yellows, golds and browns- popular autumnal hues across Ferelden.

Alistair returned with a large tray laden with goblets, plates, cutlery and food. True to his word there was cheese, a semi-hard mild type, with a mellow texture and a pleasant nutty flavour; Fay approved of his choice. He had also brought them bread, grapes, apples, pears, and a bottle of medium-bodied red wine to go with it all. The king was a bit of a connoisseur, and Fay had given him an amused smile as she helped him set everything on the table. Alistair sat at the head, and Fay joined him in the seat to his right.

“This is odd” she said.

“Oh?” Alistair looked confused as he glanced at the other chairs, “Did you wish to switch seats? You can sit here if you like, it’s just habit.”

“No, no. It’s not that... just, you’re a king and I’m-”

“Please, Fay. I’m simply a _man_ , and I was a man long before I was made king. I never actually wanted this title, or the responsibility that came along with it. Far too much paperwork.” He looked at her over the rim of his goblet, “I’m sure you never wanted the title of ‘Herald’ in much the same way. Unless you’re a religious zealot plotting to become the next Divine.”

“Dammit” she deadpanned, “You figured it out.”

“I like you” he declared with a chortle.

She should warn him, especially about the Elder One. In the future, no-one had succeeded against him, and that would have included Alistair. But how much could she tell him? He was the King of Ferelden, the main figurehead ruling over the nation she had been trying to reap influence and good-will for the Inquisition in. Having him onside was surely paramount to Josephine’s negotiations for their cause, and he seemed like a good man. Could she trust him?

“You have that look again” he said, studying her thoughtfully.

She sighed. Things were always so complicated.

“I’m- I’m going to take a leap of faith” Fay told him, her mind made up. “What I’m about to say, the Inquisition leaders will not be happy with me for telling you. The breach is likely to kill me when I try to seal it anyway, so what’s one more person knowing, right?”

Alistair raised his wine goblet in toast to her.

“Here, here” he said. “Hit me with it, I love an intriguing story. Since Duran slew the archdemon, Denerim has been dull of late. Pity too, that gruff dwarf was one mean Diamondback player.”

His hazel eyes became distant, lost in the memory. He straightened himself and gave Fay another dimple-cheeked, broad grin.

“Your secret will be safe with me” he promised.

Fay wasn’t sure how long she talked for, but at some point they had finished their food and had moved over to the couch. She had slipped off her boots and tucked her feet up beside her, resting her head on Alistair’s shoulder. He had one arm behind her neck and around her shoulders, his own feet propped up on a low table dragged over from near the fireplace. Nothing about their relaxed closeness felt inappropriate. Josephine would have fainted from their lack of decorum had she walked in on them however. Fay giggled at the mental image, tipsy from the third- or fourth? - bottle of wine they had shared.

“Thank you” she said seriously once she had managed to regain her composure, “for not freaking out and calling your guards. I’m interested to know though; do you believe me?”

“Of course I do” Alistair said, rubbing small circles on her arm with his thumb. “A secret for a secret then; I will reveal to you the truth about travelling with the Hero of Ferelden and the fifth blight, which isn’t told in the history books” he said. “Duran and I were rescued from atop the Tower of Ishal by a witch that could turn into a dragon, and you would think that was odd enough. But no, it gets better! We travelled with an assassin, an Antivan Crow who failed miserably to ambush and kill us, a Qunari who murdered a family over his precious sword, Morrigan...” he paused, his shoulders tensing at that particular name.

“You didn’t like her, did you. Call it a hunch” Fay teased.

“No, and I never will. She’s evil, and manipulative and, well, I digress. Where was I? Oh. Well, your spymaster was there too, so I’m sure she could fill you in on the rag-tag bunch of us who set out to save Thedas.”

Alistair stretched out his hand, curled into a fist, and counted what he considered to be the main points out on his fingers one-by-one.

“There were werewolves, a Maker-damned talking tree, a trip to the Deep Roads teeming with darkspawn and golems- dwarves turned to rock, that was creepy, we were trapped in the fade by a demon of sloth when we went to Klinoch’s Circle Tower, a gauntlet of trials that involved standing on these annoying little blocks to make a magic bridge appear so that Duran didn’t plummet to his doom, ugh, and so much in-between.”

His hand dropped back to his lap.

“All anyone remembers is that I was made king- Duran insisted on that, the fool - and that the Hero of Ferelden selflessly faced down the archdemon and ended the blight. That part at least is as it is written. A woman from another world, here to save us from the veil torn open and angry demons hunting after us: Why would I not believe it, after all I’ve seen?”

“Wow, you’ve really been through some shit, haven’t you” Fay said.

She clapped a hand to her mouth and groaned. Where was her internal filter when she needed it?

Alistair’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Fay, you say it how it is. I miss that. Don’t ever think that you would offend me” he assured brightly, “and don’t ever change. Oghren had a mouth so foul you could mistake him for a sailor, if you squinted hard and ignored the fact that he was a drunken dwarf.”

“I’m not sure I like the comparison to a drunken dwarf, but I’m relieved to hear that I won’t have to face the ambassador’s wrath when I return to Haven.”

“I wasn’t-! You are nothing like Oghren. Aaand you’re messing with me on purpose, aren’t you?” Alistair pouted. “So cruel. Anyway, when I get Teagan settled back in Redcliffe, the least I can do is offer any assistance required by the Inquisition in the matter or restoring peace to Ferelden. My kingdom has been suffering, and although my resources are stretched thin... I should have been doing more. It should not have fallen to you to sort this out for me. I’m sorry. I warned Duran I’d make a terrible king-”

“Alistair” she touched his jaw with her hand, the red and green of the mark glowing against his cheek. “Neither of us asked for this, but I will close the breach even if it kills me. Your people will be safe and you- you must stay vigilant. Do not fall to this Elder One.”

“You can’t die either. I’m king, so you _have_ to obey me.” His joke was tinged with sadness, and he pressed his face against her palm as he turned his head down at her. “I hope you can find happiness, after.”

“So do I.”

His lips found hers, soft and pliant. The kiss was not demanding, there was no urgent spiral of heat towards a heavier act of intimacy. Their tongues twined in a pleasurable release of tension, a comfort that both of them wanted. There was a magnetism between them that could not be denied, but it was an empathy of a life of suffering that pulled them together. Alistair drew away reluctantly and looked at Fay with his mouth opening to say the words he probably felt he had to.

“Don’t you dare apologise” she said before he had the chance. “We’re both adults, and that kiss was something that we both needed. It was also very nice, you’re a good kisser.”

He blushed, giving the top of her head a peck as she settled back against his shoulder. “You’re right, about needing an... uncomplicated show of affection, shall we say. I don’t know about me being a good kisser, it’s not like I’ve kissed myself. Been told to kiss my own backside a few times, but I don’t think that’s the same thing or that it counts.”

“Take it as the compliment it was meant to be, something to add to your royal resume and list of qualities.”

“I don’t think I’d be upset if you know, you wanted to see what else I could be complimented on.”

Alistair looked down and wiggled his eyebrows at her comically, his lips still pink from their kiss. Fay punched him playfully on the arm and closed her eyes, the room spinning and sleep calling to her.

“Don’t push it. Not yet” she mumbled.

“Is that a euphemism?”

“Alistair.”

“Yes?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I’ll take that as a maybe.”

“Shhhh. I’m trying to pass out drunk here.”

“Hah! Maker, I wish we’d met each other ages ago. You’re a woman after my own heart. Cheese, wine, stories that would make the chantry run screaming for the hills, and passing out drunk on the couch.”

“Are you complaining, _Your Majesty_?”

“Pffft. I wouldn’t change this for all of Thedas, _Herald_.”


	27. Chapter 27

A retinue of Alistair’s personal guard escorted Fay back to the Inquisition camp by lunchtime of the following day, where she was met with a mixed reception. Dorian and Iron Bull whistled and jeered about her night spent at the castle with the king, and Cassandra immediately set to probing her with questions as soon as she had finished bidding the soldiers a safe return. Solas was the only one to ignore the whole debacle, fixated on a tome he was reading by the campfire and only glancing up to give a fleeting smile at her arrival.

“There you are! Are you well?”

“Yes. Sorry, Cassandra, for causing you concern. I’m feeling better today about things, thank you.”

“You smell of rose oil” Dorian observed as he crushed her into a hug.

“I had a long soak this morning. Soap, warm water...”

“All I got was a splash around in a cold stream-”

“The Venatori have been cleared from Redcliffe?” Cassandra interrupted.

“Ali- King Alistair’s men scoured the castle and the village for any stragglers who might have stayed to cause trouble instead of fleeing after Alexius’ capture. There were none. Redcliffe is secure, and Arl Teagan is returning from Denerim as we speak.”

Fay stuck her tongue out at Dorian. “I’m not falling for that fake lament, you’re a mage. You can heat your own damn water.”

“Anyone interesting scrub your back for you?”

“Bull, I have no idea what you are implying.”

“Is that a no? Pity” said Dorian.

“He was easy on the eye” Iron Bull agreed. “Plus, a warrior, and you all know what can be said about our stamina...”

“Oh, fuck me. Really? Both of you teasing me?”

“Bet he wanted to.”

“That’s not what I meant Dorian, and you know it!”

“Wasn’t my choice of words.”

“Seeker, I do believe I owe you a full report” Fay offered desperately.

Rumours relating to her private life was not comfortable territory. It really shouldn’t be that interesting to anyone, and of course they had assumed the worst of her. Not that sleeping with Alistair could be considered a worst-case scenario. But she was only kidding herself; they had kissed, but he was charming, funny, kind-hearted, a _king_... he could have any woman he wanted. She cut a sorry sight as a female figure. If she had not been woman enough for her own husband, then she was definitely not the woman for a man like him. Or Cullen.     

“Indeed, Herald. I am especially eager to hear of your dialogue with the King of Ferelden” Cassandra said pointedly.

Fay was still reeling at her train of thought. She held up a hand asking for a moment to centre herself, filing and locking away that fragile piece of information into the deepest, darkest recess she could find.

“Fay?”

“I-It’s nothing, Dorian.”

Fay put her unexpected, wistful mindset down to what she had been through in future Redcliffe, missing her daughter’s birthday, and the altered red lyrium now pumping through her veins like a warped Thedas version of chemotherapy. Her pee wasn’t bright orange with it at least, and she could still walk about without the urge to vomit every thirty minutes. Small victories.

“I’m sorry that I shirked my responsibility to you all. Yesterday was one of the worst I’ve had, and that’s saying something believe me. It was-”

“-shit” Dorian said, tucking his arm protectively around her.

"It’s no excuse, but it’s all I have in the way of explanation.”

‘A secret for a secret’ Alistair’s voice echoed in her head; conservative with the truth it was then.

“Josephine will be happy to hear that the king has pledged his full support to the Inquisition when and where he is able to. He is eager to see Ferelden stabilised after these short years following the blight, and together he is certain that it can be achieved.”

“That is good news” Cassandra said with relief.

“We had a lengthy discussion about it” Fay fibbed.

She hoped it was enough to dissuade Cassandra, or any of the other advisors, from pressing her about how much Alistair knew of her background. Cassandra was evidently satisfied, and Fay followed the woman back to her tent where they could compile a missive to send back to Haven.


	28. Chapter 28

Cullen paced the short length of his tent’s interior, fretting and muttering. Forward and back, forward and back. Not conscious of what he was doing, he pursued the looping track imprinted on the dry dirt from his desk to the entrance flap. He was hunting for an answer- one that was so far eluding him. What in the Maker’s name was he meant to do with the information he had been given? Cullen paused sporadically, only to stare at his sabatons in bewilderment and then continue on. One step, two steps, three, four. Leather creaked and metal chinked. _Red lyrium_. The wind buffeted against the canvas walls, a cachinnation of ridicule from the world outside his shelter, and the malevolent fiends forever haunting him thrashed against their confines. There was no reprieve.

_‘You recognise it, do you not? Pure lyrium, taken from The Deep Roads. The dwarf charged a great deal for his prize’._

Meredith had run her hand over the sword lovingly, triggering the distorted notes of a macabre, wailing melody. Deranged, revolting... tempting. He remembered wanting to clamp his hands over his ears. The sullied tune had rasped against that of the blue in an obnoxious contest, and his Knight-Commander leered at them as Cullen tried to get her to stand down.

_‘My own Knight-Captain falls prey to the influence of blood magic? You all have! You’re all weak, allowing the mages to control your minds- to turn you against me. But I don’t need any of you! I will protect this city myself.”_

Cullen had taken the Champion’s side, choosing the mage over the leader of his own Order, and he was left to front the shame of the Templars’ spectacular downfall from grace in the months following. Meredith remained in The Gallows, a hideous effigy that culminated an eagerness to break his leash. The Circle had collapsed to fire and ruin, a ripple of Anders’ revolt gathering momentum south of The Free Marches, and spurring the mages to topple every tower. Thrask had warned them, but the whispers had gone unheeded. No-one had suspected the Knight-Commander spiralling into madness until it was too late. Not even him.  

_Red lyrium._ The two words goaded him over and over. Cullen stumbled out of his tent, graunching his teeth at the insufferable cold air. He shunned the soldiers and villagers, wallowing in his solitary misery as he walked. The only person he registered was Varric, who tossed a crumpled ball of parchment into the fire and wiped at puffy eyes with a jacket sleeve as Cullen passed by. Bartrand’s ‘prize’ had led him down the same path of mania as the Knight-Commander. Though the dwarf didn’t speak often of his brother’s betrayal, Cullen knew that Bartrand’s lunacy and subsequent institutionalisation for murder was a leaden burden across Varric’s shoulders.

The former bard had anticipated his visit, her agents vacated from the area, and a stool set in front of hers. It didn’t surprise him, nothing escaped the spymaster’s notice.

“Sit” she said, and Cullen did so begrudgingly.

Leliana uncrossed her legs and adjusted so that she was bent forwards, elbows on her thighs and fingers laced together. He mimicked the posture, their proximity allowing for their discussion to go unheard.

“Whose idea was it then?” he demanded.

“There is no conspiracy, Cullen. The Herald is not privy to any personal information about you, other than what you have divulged to her yourself. Did _you_ tell her?”

“No! Of course not.”

“Then she is unaware.”

“Admit that this is all just a sick joke” he begged.

“Admit?” Leliana let out a sharp laugh. “Cullen, I cannot admit to a falsehood in this declaration. Lyrium has the potential to keep a hold on you. Red or blue, there is a noose around your neck either way. It will choke you, if you let it. Kirkwall was a disaster, no? Anyone would fear becoming as Meredith did, and it is that fear which has you in such a spin over this.”

“But what about Fay? It’s my fault-”

“Fay is alive. The breach will be sealed, and the Inquisition will complete the Divine’s directive. You are jumping at phantoms in the dark, Cullen,  and it does not alter what is important. This could all be providence, perhaps the Maker has entrusted her to us for a higher purpose? We cannot see His designs upon the world, who He will take, and who He will save.”

“And if she changes?” he asked hesitantly.

“You know the answer to that already, but I do not think she will.”

He left Leliana, certain that he had missed some hidden insight that she was trying to convey. As a warrior- a Commander- he was not a stranger to accepting strategic losses for a desired outcome. Callous maybe, but he was tasked with sending men and women into conflict. That wasn’t to say that Cullen didn’t feel remorse if someone serving under him died, on the contrary, but he could not allow himself to be mired with the emotion of it. But Fay... She meant a great deal more to him than a pawn on a chessboard. He could not view her in the same light, not when he cared about her as he did.

Cullen combed through his hair with his gloved hands, tugging at the locks that had grown too long since the conclave. You’ve become sloppy, he chastised. An infatuation was unprofessional, and if he were still a Templar he would have been ousted for being too closely invested in his charge. The Inquisition placed the same demands on him as the Chantry, and he could give no less. It wouldn’t be right.

“Ser, may I be so bold as to ask if something troubles you?”

Cullen stopped and took stock of where he was, recognising the start of the track that veered round towards the jetty on the lake. He did not answer straight away, the argument between his head and his heart raging on. If Fay became as Meredith, or Bartrand, he would give mercy without compulsion; as Hessarian had done for Andraste, so he would do the same for Andraste’s Herald. This lapse... this breakdown, it was just a product of the withdrawal exacerbated by the Seeker’s letter. He had allowed Fay to ensnare him, preoccupying his thoughts and dreams. It was wrong, his feelings for her were wrong. But that’s not what this was about, was it?

“No” Cullen said roughly.

You’re lying to yourself, Rutherford. The crux of the issue is that you don’t trust yourself to be around her, not with the seduction of the red lyrium’s song. You want it, crave it, possibly more than you want her. There’s no conviction that you can resist it, because in the future you didn’t. That’s the answer you were searching for, _that_ is the truth. And it was. He was the problem.

“I meant, no. I’m not alright” he admitted.

Rylen returned his focus to him from the mountainside across the lake, where the setting sun left bloodied traces of scarlet on the snow-capped peaks. “If there is anything I can do, Commander...?“

“It will all work out, I'm sure.”

Unconvinced, Cullen gave his officer a brief smile before turning around to return to his tent.


	29. Chapter 29

She was glad to be back. The smoke curling from the smithy, soldiers sparring, chantry mothers clad in their robes of white, red and gold, runners delivering instructions, hunters butchering meat and scraping hides- the familiarity of it all was soothing. Haven bustled with a multitude of people, purportedly from a mismatch of varying classes and races. The compact village was like a social experiment, a microcosm that for the most part worked efficiently enough to support itself. There were very few grievances aired, and most of those were down to the Chancellor’s antagonistic poking. If- when - the breach was sealed, Fay hoped that their co-operation and tolerance continued.

The group parted ways at the gates, though Cassandra bid Fay to hurry to the war room once she had offloaded her weapons and pack to her cabin. The Inquisition leaders were to gather and discuss the terms of the Seeker’s arrangement with the mages. Cassandra had reasoned that the rebellion, the plight of the circles, would continue to cause discord unless the mages served the Inquisition rather than join them as allies. Fay had too little cognisance of Thedas’ politics, traditions, and cultures to make an informed comment either in favour, or against. Solas and Dorian were not shy in vocalising their displeasure at the conscription, but Cassandra was not one to do anything out of spite.

She found herself swaying, balance askew as if on the deck of a ship. Wood squeaked over wood, a high-pitched rude noise, and a chair materialised behind her, bumping into the back of her knees. Josephine coaxed Fay down into it with short phrases of encouragement given in her musical Germanic accent.

“That’s it. Good. It will be alright, Herald. Nice deep breaths. Calm.”

She felt like a child; this was not how she wanted this debriefing to transpire. Josephine tittered at Fay’s dazed compliment of: “You’re faster than a fennec, ambassador”, and she retreated to the map-covered table to gather up her clipboard and quill. Solas had assisted in Fay’s confrontation of the memory in the fade, an eternally patient counsellor to her woes, but stepping into in the war room had brought it all back with a ferocity she had not accounted for.

“Sorry. Seeing you here, now- it’s a little overwhelming.”

“Understandable, Herald. We are glad to see you safe” said Leliana consolingly. “We will handle any gossip or inaccuracies pertaining to your... condition” the spymaster added, glancing sideways in collusion with Josephine.

Fay watched as Cullen’s gaze dropped to inspect the scars across her neck, the lines across his forehead becoming pronounced, and his jaw clenching.

“Maker. I-I did that?”

“Not you, Cullen, a Red Templar.”

“That Red Templar was _me_.”

“It’s irrelevant, really. If we are going to argue over apportioning blame, then it’s mine anyway. I was the one who went to Redcliffe, and you went to the castle because of me.”

He tried to interject, but Fay would hear no more of it. The man would continue to torment himself over what-if’s, and it wouldn’t change a thing.

“Don’t, okay?” She said.

Fay cast a shielding of red lyrium over her skin, which she had been practicing to master with Solas and Dorian since accidently discovering the talent in future Redcliffe. She rose from the chair, standing with her arms stretched up at her sides in a visual demonstration to the advisors. Her sanguine aura pulsed, to the same fast tempo as the pounding in her chest. Fay noticed the predatory way that Cullen was suddenly scrutinising her. His honeyed-amber eyes had become bronzed, fevered and alert with a hunger that she found unnervingly exciting. Fay reclaimed her poise to carry on.

“Y-you all know that I’m different- an alien to your world, to Thedas. The drugs, poisons, I was administered back home might have mutated my cells to give some form of immunity, or a way of combating the effects of the substance. It could just be natural. I don’t know if our body chemistry is exactly the same... I’m aware how farfetched that sounds, Solas and Dorian are still speculating – well, arguing about it - and I don’t think we’ll ever prove how this is possible.”

She let the power dissipate. “I’m still _me_. No voices, no unequivocal need to slaughter anyone, and no desire to start levitating statues or whatever it was Varric mentioned in one of his stories. The breach must be sealed, and that is our focus. If I survive, we can discuss this further afterwards.”

“Agreed. Solas says that the magic of the mark is not impeded by the-” Cassandra scrunched her nose.

“Merger?” Fay suggested.

Cassandra contemplated and then nodded. “The mark is not impeded by this ‘merger’, so our plan of how to proceed has not changed. The mages arrive from Redcliffe in a few days, so we have preparations to make for the final attempt.”

The final attempt... One way or another, the last few months of frankly mystifying and harrowing events were coming to a head. The question was, would she survive? And if she did, with the breach sealed there would be no demon army. No Armageddon. She could put all of this behind and find someone to help her go home. Solas’ expertise was highly valued, he had said it couldn’t be done and Fay believed him. But she needed to try, to hope.

Cullen was the first to leave once the meeting was over, scurrying from the room after giving a puzzling, curt farewell. Josephine and Leliana followed, giving Fay a warmer goodbye. The spymaster and ambassador entered Josephine’s office together, uniting their efforts in penning a request to the dwarves of Orzammar to set up a lyrium supply for the mages at a decent price. She had some correspondence of her own to write, finishing touches to do on a couple of sketches in Rebecca’s journal, and a certain dwarf to find.

“I should have realised” Cassandra said.

“Realised what?”

“The Commander-” The warrior sighed and strode away, leaving her on the chantry steps. “Have a good afternoon, Herald” she called.


	30. Chapter 30

Fay had generally avoided The Singing Maiden, but self-editing before speaking had become reflexive outside of her close clique of companions and the Inquisition leaders. It did not prevent the odd slip, a phrase or two out of place, but people tended not to notice. Those that did probably just attributed it to her being ‘touched’ by Andraste and let it slide. Tonight though, Fay didn’t care. She braved the tavern in search of a distraction from the butterflies flapping and squirming uncomfortably in her stomach, and a tankard or two of watered down ale was not enough to make her start blabbing her most intimate secrets anyway.

She let out a squawk as someone barrelled into her at high speed, strong arms encircling her waist.

“You little shit!” he shouted.

There were a few scandalised gasps from the patrons who were close enough to hear the insult. Fay put her hand up at a soldier who had sprung to his feet with a thunderous look on his face. She reciprocated her friend’s embrace, mouthing that she was okay over his head to the man ready to rush to her aid. The soldier returned to his seat and thankfully let the matter drop.

Varric scowled up at her, bruised purple half-moons under his eyes and clothing crumpled.

“Do you know how worried I’ve been since getting your letter?! Have you any idea?”

“I don’t know what to say, Varric.”

They walked over to sit at a secluded table in a corner, away from the drinkers being entertained by Maryden by the bar, so that they could talk more privately.

“Andraste’s flaming ass. You know how bad that stuff is” he continued in a low voice.

“I didn’t exactly do it on purpose. I can’t prevent myself from being a... freak.”

Varric sighed and let his shoulders relax. “Mouse, I know. It’s just-”

“Kirkwall” she said and he nodded. “I’m alright, for the moment at least. I’ll take what I can get. Solas and Dorian have been working on ways to help me control it, and I’m fairly sure they’ve been running regular checks on my health.”

“I called in a few favours. There’s someone I’m trying to track down that might be able to give us more insight, or at least his advice on how to- dare I say it- use it to your advantage.”

“Oh?”

Varric gave a furtive glance around the room, leaning closer over the table. “Best I don’t say for now. If the Seeker catches a sniff then she’ll assume that I know where the rest of them are.”

“And do you?”

He gave her a toothy smile and rested back in his chair, arms crossed. “Do I what?”

“Fair enough. I heard nothing.”

They drank, Varric disclosing anything noteworthy that had happened while she was away. There wasn’t much, the village was sedate and remote. Sera was the only one to instigate anything that peaked Fay’s interest. She had pranked Vivienne by setting a nug loose in her room, only to find it frozen like a popsicle and stuffed under her bed covers the following day. The rogue was apparently still cringing about hand-like feet and wet noses, avoiding going anywhere near the critters scampering about past the lake. She had tried persuading Varric to help get revenge on the enchanter, mentioning something about bees that he could make no sense of, but he was too smart to get involved with anything Sera was plotting.

“Where would you even get bees up in the mountains, and at this time of year?” Fay asked.

“Hah! I have no idea. I’m not sure that ‘forward planning’ and ‘Sera’ go together in the same sentence.”

“Remind me not to piss her off though, just in case.”

Fay was unable to remember which hands beat others in Wicked Grace, so she decided to teach Varric an easier card game from home. They spent the next few hours playing Poker, stopping briefly to eat a ram meat stew for supper. Blackwall and Dorian joined their table at an undeterminable point in the evening, and Fay gave them a brief explanation of the rules when they agreed to be dealt in too.

“I’ve not come across this one in my travels.” Blackwall said.

Fay continued her riffle, using the distraction of the shuffling deck to buy a few seconds of thinking time. She ended up shrugging at the Grey Warden and giving a vague: “A friend taught me, I don’t really remember where it’s from” explanation. Dorian gave her a smug grin and twirled one end of his moustache between his fingers. She scarcely resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him in reprimand. Blackwall accepted the excuse, and the four of them slipped into companionable baiting and accusations of cheating as they played. Their wins and losses were fairly evenly matched, and Fay basked in a freedom from having to talk about any bleak subjects. Regardless of the omission of certain facts, Fay felt more like herself than she had done for a while.

Of the eight devoted to accompanying Fay out on Inquisition missions, only half of them knew her biography thus far. Cassandra, Solas, and Varric had been with her since the start, so Fay’s candour with them was a predictable, logical step. Dorian had asked a lot of leading questions after Redcliffe, especially since the alteration of the red lyrium in her system, and Fay had taken him aside with Cassandra to tell him the truth before reaching Haven. The Seeker had refused her request at first, but conceded that Dorian had not given them any worthy reason to treat him with cynicism. As for the rest, that bridge would be crossed if and when necessary. If she died at the temple, it was a moot issue.

“I shall escort you back, My Lady” Blackwall offered graciously when Fay finally decided to head for bed.

“I’m not _that_ drunk.”

Dorian elbowed the burly warrior. “Smooth move, you dolt.”

“I didn’t... I never...” Blackwall spluttered, turning almost beetroot.

Varric snorted at the Warden’s expense, the humour returning to his tired eyes.

“Ugh, remind me why I tolerate you lot?” Fay asked.

Dorian clutched his hand to his chest as if wounded.

“Tolerate? What would you do without me, darling?”

“We all know I’m your favourite” Varric said.

“Hey! Since when did I go from beardy lummox to dolt?” Blackwall shot at Dorian.

“No, no. You misunderstand. You didn’t go _from_ one to the other.”

“So, you’re saying I’m both?”

“Oh, I’m sure he can think of others” said Varric, “with a little help.”

“If you’re going to encourage him, the least you could do is buy me another drink first” grumbled Blackwall.

“Deal.” Varric beckoned Flissa over to refill their tankards.

“You have enough grasp on the vernacular to understand my basic insults? Southerners, full of little surprises, aren’t you?” Dorian said with an impish grin. “Hmm, let’s see...”

With their inebriated laughter ringing in her ears, Fay stepped outside. The chatter behind became muffled as the door shut, and she stood unsteadily at the threshold to stare up at the foreign constellations. Unpolluted by artificial light, the glittering jewels draped over them up in the night sky were stunningly beautiful. Humbled, and feeling miniscule in scale to the cosmos, Fay pottered down the deserted pathway to her cabin. A soft crunching of boots made her twist around on the spot, convinced that she was being followed, but no-one was there.


	31. Chapter 31

Leliana motioned for Cullen to join her out of earshot from the revellers dancing and drinking in celebration. He caught a glimpse of Fay, head thrown back in laughter, with a crowd of admirers gathered around her at Varric’s campfire. Like an imbecile, he had refrained from going to her before their retinue approached the breach. She could have died- she had expected it. Yet he had neglected her, backed away from giving succour to the phenomenal woman who would forfeit herself for them.

He was selfishly unable to move past his unrequited yearnings, and to expel his reservations for the sweetened red enjoined to her will. In that breath-taking instant when the mark’s tether had connected, Fay’s eyes locked with his, and she had not masked the dejection in them. _‘Foolish boy, just like all the others.’_ Meredith’s damning appraisal had become his own self-fulfilling prophecy. If he had confessed, then Fay might have understood, but he hadn’t because of his imprudent pride.

“Cook was meant to have sent Ditcher with a status update half an hour ago, but I have not seen or heard from either of them since the festivities begun.”

“Could they not have just snuck away from their posts for a while to join in the fun? Lost track of-”

“I can spot my own men in a crowd, Commander, even if you cannot” Leliana retorted. “They are not here. Something has happened, and it has me worried.”

“Alright.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I can send Rylen to check on them. One man is inconspicuous enough to go unnoticed, and I trust his judgement. We will know soon enough.”

“Thank you, Cullen. I think it best I call back...”

In one fluid motion Leliana plucked free the small throwing knives she kept concealed between her shoulder blades, beneath the folded cloth layers of her purple hood, and had one held in a pinch grip ready to fling. Cullen swivelled to face whatever was rushing at them, drawing his sword free from its scabbard. He snarled at the young soldier blundering through the copse of trees; Leliana wasn’t the only one to have concerns about men abandoning their posts.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“Ser...” the soldier came to a halt in front of them and braced his hands on his hips. “There are men” he panted, “down the valley, heading for Haven. A hundred, or more. No banner. Advancing fast.”

Cullen and Leliana exchanged a duplicate look of astonishment and dread.

“I will sound the alarm, and get Josie to round up the chantry sisters and children” she said, sprinting away.

Cullen nodded and addressed the soldier still catching his breath. “You did well” he told him. “Find Rylen, and tell him that everyone is to arm themselves, that includes the villagers. Now.”

Cullen pointed in the direction he had last spotted his officer five or ten minutes ago, and the man saluted before running off. Scanning the training grounds and seeing it was clear, Cullen shut the gates as the bells pealed and soldiers sprang to gather their armour and weapons. Fiona’s voice cut through the din: “Mages! To me!”

“Cullen, what is going on?” Cassandra shouted.

Fay’s complexion was ashen, the mark on her hand flashing with its twin colours. Dorian whispered something of reassurance in her ear, and Varric fed bolts into the loading mechanism of his crossbow. Cullen swallowed, the reverberation of her power beguiling him. It quickly retracted, swirling across her unusual aura with a faint hum. Oil on water. He stiffened, his ebbing Templar senses likening it to the distortion picked up from mages before they cast their spells. Cassandra was unaffected, though her frown softened sympathetically at his perceptible unease.

“A watchguard reported a massive force, heading to us through the mountains” he answered.

Josephine reached them, Leliana directly behind.

“Under whose banner?” the ambassador asked.

“None.”

All of them jumped as the gates flexed inwards, a clamouring knock sounding against the wood. Leliana dragged Josephine back at the noise, and the ambassador fled to the chantry with her heels clicking on the stony footway.

“I can’t come in unless you open!”

Fay started to move, to comply with the thin voice calling to them, but Cullen motioned her to wait. If the enemy- whoever they may be - were trying to trick them, then it would be him taking the first blow. Not her. He flung open the gate and raised his blade, but the assailant in plate armour dropped to his knees and his axe skittered harmlessly away. As the bulky body fell face-first to the ground, a willowy boy crouching with bloody daggers was revealed to them. Not a foe then, though Cullen was not about to sheathe his sword in complacency.

“I’m Cole” the boy introduced himself, “and I came to warn you. The Elder One comes.”

Cullen impulsively took Fay’s hand.

“He knows you” the boy babbled, gesturing to Fay with one of his daggers, “and he is very angry that you took his mages. There.”

Cullen bit back an anguished moan and Fay squeezed his hand, looking up at him with worry. Templars. Templars were coming to slaughter them. They felt abnormal, the red lyrium song caterwauling and beseeching him in a way that Fay’s did not. Luring with the illicit, depraved intimations of the blackest part of his soul. Maker, he couldn’t do this. Torches crested the mountainside and two lone figures stood to observe the soldiers progressing towards Haven. Next to a skeletal giant, a deformed abomination, stood a man he had once known. A Templar who had struggled with his addiction as he did now, a man that he could become with one small slip.

“No” the boy said, tilting his head at him. “You are not the same.  Sweating, shredding... it hurts you. You don’t want it, and you don’t want to be the one that did that to her. You won’t take it.”

Cullen glared at the boy, wondering what in the Maker’s name made him say something like that.

“I thought it would help” Cole said.

Bewildered, Cullen dropped Fay’s hand and strode into the village to organise the fighters amassed and awaiting command. Rylen saluted, the few Templars that had joined them after the conclave spread out through the squadrons making up the frontline. Iron Bull and his chargers were grouped with Solas, Blackwall, Vivienne and Sera. Fiona and the mages from Redcliffe would defend the villagers armed with rudimentary tools and weapons outside the chantry. Leliana’s scouts were also with Fiona and the non-combatants, but a few mingled in with the main host. There were not enough. He cleared his throat, determined not to project his despondency.

“Mages, you have sanction to engage them” he confirmed. “That man is Samson...” there were a few knowing murmurs from the men and women that had come with him from Kirkwall. He heard Varric swear, and Rylen’s lips pursed to stop himself doing the same. “He will not make it easy” Cullen said. “For the Inquisition!” He thrust his sword high. “For your lives, for all of us!”

_Maker have mercy on our souls_. The first wave of Red Templars screeched a nerve shattering battle cry and charged.


	32. Chapter 32

Fay was flagging, and a scan over her companions to see their slouched backs and subconscious grimaces indicated that they were as well. There was a limit to the length and quality she could get the red lyrium to boost her strength and stamina, her utilisation and understanding of it clumsily novice. But she was amazingly holding her own, and still managing to put one foot in front of the other. During one of their status checks in-between skirmishes, Varric had fuzzily referred to her abilities as _relium_ before correcting himself. Relium was an amalgamation, just as her unique relationship with the red lyrium in her blood, so Fay found the slip rather fitting. It also sounded less ominous. The dwarf had doubled over at her for that comment, but the name stuck.

Fay didn’t know for sure how long they had been fighting. All she _did_ know was two things: Firstly, there was a dragon, and secondly, they were well and truly, without any shadow of a doubt, fucked.

“Cassandra?”

“Yes, Fay?”

The warrior lunged to intercept an arrow with her shield, which otherwise could have hit Dorian as he finished setting down mines in front of the Red Templar knights filtering through a gap in the ruined palisade wall. Varric took the archer down, firing a second shot to make certain he didn’t get back up again.

“Your Maker fucking has it in for me” she grouched.

“If I thought that was correct, and I do not, then I’d argue that faith is made complete by our deeds to uphold it...” Cassandra’s argument of rationale ceased as she dodged to avoid a synchronised double strike. The warrior cracked the edge of her battered Inquisition shield under the chin of one Red Templar knight, and a crossbow bolt sprouted through the eye-slit of the helmet of the other. Both men flopped to the ground as a third caught on a mine, sending him screaming and flapping his arms as flames cocooned him.

“Drop and roll” Fay called.

“You’re not supposed to be _helping_ them, Mouse” Varric said, giving an exaggerated sigh.

“We’re only going to kill him anyway, unless you were planning to set this one free? Blame my sarcasm on these fuckers for bringing a flamethrower to a knife fight.”

Seggrit, trapped inside his burning hut when part of the roof collapsed to block his exit, received an earbashing from Cassandra about his recklessness before she sent him on his way. He looked suitably ashamed as he retreated to the chantry with his business ledger and coin pouch clutched in his greedy hands. Iron Bull, Blackwall, Solas, Vivienne and Sera converged with them in the square at the middle of Haven a short while after. The two groups brought down a horrifying contingent of hybrid Red Templars with shards jutting from their misshapen bodies, before separating to cover more ground in the search for survivors.

“How’s that relium reserve doing, Mouse?”

“I don’t know. I feel, maybe, quarter-full now? If that’s supposed to make any sense at all...”

“Spells are fuelled by energy from the fade in combination with the pool of mana inside a mage’s body. Together they reinforce the intent and application of the effect visualised by the caster. That internal reservoir drains with use, and how fast is dependent on the spell itself. Once my mana drops below a certain threshold, casting is not possible until it regenerates with rest” said Dorian. “The unwashed hobo and I hypothesised that your skills work on these same principles.”

“Hmm, and we definitely have not had a lot of rest to recover.” Fay took a guzzle of water from the pouch Varric was passing around. “Unwashed hobo? I bet Solas adores you for that one.”

The distinct itching beneath her skin returned, and there was an unpleasant feeling of being watched. She turned and looked up to a bank of trees beyond the cabins, seeing a glimmer of silver as a Red Templar rogue disappeared into stealth.

“Alright, I spy one of the bastards coming for us. Let’s greet him, shall we? Before we all run dry.”

Iron Bull had taken his team along the long eastern route to the tavern and apothecary, whilst Cassandra led them westwards past the devastation of smouldering tents and civilian lodgings. The air was thick with acrid smoke, making their eyes water and throats sore. Every so often Fay could feel the tingle of Solas’ magic- vigorous and joyful - and the inverse, clinical spells cast by Vivienne. Dorian’s was in-between the two, and Fay wondered why magic taught by the circles felt stunted and lacklustre. She had noticed it with the other ex-circle mages from Redcliffe, the only exception being Fiona.

Quartermaster Threnn was the last person they found in need of rescue outside the chantry, and she pounded on the doors for them to be admitted once the coast was clear. They opened just as Iron Bull’s party shepherded the researcher Minaeve and grouchy alchemist Adan up alongside them. At the back of the hall Fay could see Mother Giselle sitting with the orphans, a snivelling toddler on her lap and another girl around three or four years old clinging to her arm. The rest of the chantry sisters were huddled near the war room, knelt in prayer.

The Chargers and Leliana’s agents had foraged supplies and they were busy distributing blankets, healing potions, dried foodstuffs, and water. Fiona was tending to cuts and burns with the few mages that were left, and Solas joined in healing the soldiers and consenting Templars along with them. Her friends scurried away to lend a hand where they could, leaving her standing with Cassandra and at a loss as to what use she could be.

What was the worth to any of this? She had closed the breach, and somehow it had made things worse. The Elder One was still recreating his vision for the future, and instead of demons he had taken the Templars. Fay chewed at her lip and her eyes welled with tears. She watched Cole ease Roderick to the floor next to her, a carmine blossom seeping across the front of the chancellor’s robes. Fiona looked over from the patient she was dealing with, shaking her head gently in answer to the unspoken query. Nothing could be done for his injury.

“Our position is not good” Cullen said, gesturing them away from the doors as two soldiers bolted them shut. “We lost any time you brought us when that dragon attacked.”

Cole peered over at Fay from under the brim of his hat. “I’ve seen an archdemon. I was in the fade, but it looked like that” the boy said.

“I don’t care what it looks like” Cullen snapped. “It’s cut a path for that army, and they’ll kill everyone left in Haven.”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants her. The Herald.”

“Then the bastard can fucking have me.”

“Fay...”

“Cullen, if it means that no-one else dies-”

“It won’t matter” Cole interrupted her. “He’ll kill everyone anyway. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like him...” Cullen rolled his eyes at the boy and paused, rubbing at his neck anxiously. “There are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was that avalanche. If we could turn the remaining trebuchet and cause one last slide-”

“That would bury us all” Cassandra objected.

“Seeker, we’re dying. But this way, _we_ can decide how.”

Roderick pulled feebly at Cole, and he bobbed his head enthusiastically at the chancellor.

“Yes, yes. That. The chancellor can help.”

Roderick coughed, wiping a trickle of blood onto his sleeve. “There is a path. You wouldn’t know about it, unless you’d taken the summer pilgrimage as I have. The people can escape. Andraste must have shown me so that I could tell you.”

“Cullen, if I can get to the trebuchet, can you get these people out?” Fay asked.

“Yes, but you can’t mean to- what about you? When the mountain falls...”

What other option was left to them, to her? It was over. They were trapped and Fay refused to die like a caged animal, or to be used by the Elder One like the Templars who were invading Haven.

“I will not have all of this be for nothing” she said.

Cullen’s brow pinched as he thought over what he could say to change her mind. Fay crossed the small gap between them, tugging at the cloak over his breastplate and pulling him down to meet the brush of her lips. The warmth of his breath tickled on her face in an exclamation of surprise as she dropped back down from the balls of her feet onto her heels. He frowned at her, and clenched his jaw as he did when troubled, and instantly she felt foolhardy.

“Cullen, I’m-”

His hands found her, one at her hip and the other at the back of her head, and he leant down to kiss her properly. Their tongues entwined in a heady and passionate dance, a bittersweet exchange of longing and dismay. With her fingertips caressing along his neck and under his jaw, she could feel how fast his heart was racing. When they parted she was left breathless, and disappointed in herself for not having taken the chance with him sooner. Cullen rested his forehead on hers, eyes screwed shut and voice trembling as he whispered: “Don’t go. Please, don’t go.” But they both knew it couldn’t be.


	33. Chapter 33

Corypheus. The Elder One’s name; a name that Fay execrated as the devil incarnate, if there was such a thing. Satan, Lucifer- was there a being reviled in such a way in Thedas? It- he - had forcibly tried to take the mark and failed. The relium had sent a jolt of power through the connection as his spell snagged at her and Corypheus had roared in pain, cutting the link. Snarling with a lopsided lour at having been foiled, he had hoisted her up by the arm to dangle before him like a doll. A melted collage of skin, bone and red lyrium, his waspish essence needled in the back of her skull in a way that irritated far more than any of the Red Templars serving him as master.

_“You have spoilt it with your piteous emulation of those of old, but I will find another way into the fade. You will not take the song from me, and you will die, Herald. Just as those we once called Gods. Your are nothing compared to them.”_

Fay was thrown at the loaded trebuchet, her back colliding with a support beam. Winded, she had grabbed for something to steady herself and keep her footing as the fog cleared, only to find it was the crank handle in her hand. A comet trailed through the evening sky over the silhouette of Haven’s sanctum to Andraste, an arrow ignited to signal that they had made it out. Although afraid, she had smiled at the sight. Her friends were safe, and she would keep them that way.

_“Pray that I succeed in resurrecting my people, for I have been to the city. The throne of the Gods lies empty! They are gone, and without them, you cannot stop me.”_

Corypheus’ dragon had swept him up to safety before the deluge of the avalanche hit. Snow smacked her through a rotten platform to some tunnels beneath Haven, and Fay must have blacked out after tumbling through the void. She awoke in a silent tomb, cold and alone. Months ago, when she had first made the trek to the temple as a prisoner with Cassandra, Solas and Varric, they had made their way up a series of dilapidated ladders and platforms on the mountainside. Cassandra had told them that there was once an old mining complex, so it was reasonable to assume that this tunnel led to the surface somewhere.

“Have to get up first, genius” she said. “Oh good, talking to yourself. Great.”

Her mocking echo got her to roll and shakily try to rise onto all fours. With a scream, Fay quickly adjusted to take the pressure off her left leg and propped herself up on an elbow to survey the damage.

“Fuck.”

Her foot was not supposed to be at that angle, and her knee bulged like a balloon.

“Crawling it is then.”

She dragged herself, pushing with her good foot against the ground, whimpering, sobbing and swearing. How many times did she have to dally with death until the penance she was serving it was satiated?

“Why can’t you just fucking kill me already, instead of toying with me? You and me, Cassandra... We’re going to finish off that fucking conversation about the Maker having it in for me.”

There was a ghostly cackle from the end of the tunnel that gave her goose bumps. She knew that sound, though she really wished she didn’t. Fay counted four despair demons in black hooded cloaks floating in ambush, a manifestation of the hopelessness from both the attack on the village, and also her own situation. She was weapon less, and certainly did not have enough relium to conjure a shield to defend herself from their ice missiles. The mark on her hand flared red and green, a tempest of outrage pouring from her that she could not reel in.

“You know what? I have had enough of this crap. I can’t even fucking stand upright! Well come on then you sons of whore-mongering, nug-humping dickwhistles! Shit-faced dingleberry slappers, I’ll rip you all a new...”

Fay’s furious tirade cut short as a switch somewhere deep inside of her clicked, and a shockwave of energy expelled from the mark that made her ears pop. A rift opened up over the demons, sucking them into it before folding in on itself and disappearing. She was left, mouth agape, and feeling depleted in a way she hadn’t before.

“So that was what mana from the fade was being stored for. Huh. Well, that’s new” Fay said to herself in awe. “Probably a good thing I didn’t lose my rag like that in Haven around the soldiers.”

There was an exit to the tunnel ahead, though it would take some effort inching her way towards it. She had no alternative. If she stayed, there was no chance of being found or making her way back to the escapees from Haven. Outside the wind howled, and a flurry of white dots suggested a snow storm or blizzard had started, and Fay knew she would not survive that either.

“Stay and starve. Then die in agony. Leave and freeze. Then die, potentially in agony, but too cold to care.”

With a sigh, Fay decided to go on. At least if she got hypothermia, she’d drop into a peaceful sleep in the end. The ways things tended to go for her, wolves would find and maul her first.

“It would still be quicker” she justified.


	34. Chapter 34

Fay was gone, and it was his fault. He should have talked her out of it, made her stay. How could he have done that to her? He had just given up, not been able to think of a way out of the position they found themselves holed up in, and let her go to that... _thing_. What kind of a so-called Commander was he? He had sworn a duty of care to her when she joined the Inquisition, told her that she could entrust her well-being with him. His future self- a red lyrium monster - had decimated that promise, and now he was no better. She kissed you, Rutherford. Fay cared for you too, and now you’ve lost her to your inadequacies. You didn’t just hurt her, Maker’s breath, you killed her.

“She’s not dead” Cole said behind him.

Cullen spun to face the boy who had been at Haven’s gates to warn them of the Templar army, Samson, and the Elder One.

“This is not a joke” he hissed at him. “She gave her life for ours, and now she’s buried...” Cullen couldn’t continue, his hand curling into a fist held at his side.

“Beneath the white, but not dead” Cole insisted. “Falling and then nothing. But now she is awake.”

Cullen choked, his heartbeat hammering in his head, and self-control slipping. “You can’t know that. You _don’t_ know that, so just stop!”

“Commander, if I may.”

“Solas. What is it?” Cullen asked brusquely.

The Inquisition still looked to them, to him, to lead them through this havoc. To stay calm and push on through their losses, even personal ones. He could not show himself as a sapling bent low to the wind if he expected to keep his men’s respect and subservience to their cause. Fay had joined them readily to close the breach and bring the Divine’s murderer to justice, and she would want them to see it through. Especially now.

“I should explain about Cole” Solas said, placing himself in front of the boy. “He appears to be a young man, but it is more complicated than that. It would seem that he is in fact a spirit. One of compassion.”

“I want to help” Cole said. “I hear the hurt.”

“I think what Cole means is that he can hear Fay, and that means she is alive.”

“Yes. There are a lot of hurts, and-” the boy gave a startled cry, clutching his hands to his ears. “She is _very_ angry.” His large brim hat slanted as he looked to Solas with wide eyes. “What is a... Oh, I don’t think I should repeat that. Or that, no, definitely not _that_.”

Could Fay have been spared? Was there really a chance she could return, that the Maker had shown them clemency? Maybe you are falling apart if you're going to be sucked in by this, Rutherford.

“Cole, can you tell us where she is?” Solas asked patiently.

“A passage under the village, moving slowly. She is bright, special. Old and new. We need to get to her. I can lead  you.”

“Cole is not lying to us, Commander. I would suggest that we heed his words.”

Cullen floundered, the snowflakes that had started sluggishly were now being whipped into a seething froth around them. It could be a ruse, Cole could have been sent to remove the Inquisition leaders from within. But Solas gave credence to the outsider, and the elven mage had become one of Fay’s guardians. If he had wanted the Inquisition to struggle after closing the breach so the mages could walk free from any governance, then intercession would make no sense. He did not seem to be conspiring with the spirit or whatever the boy was, and if Fay was out there Cullen had to bring her back. The storm was picking up and she did not have blankets or a tent to weather the frigid climate.

“The demons said spiteful things, showed you images to make you hate. I am not like that” Cole said. “And If I do hurt anyone, you must kill me.”

Cullen motioned to his sword. "Gladly” he vowed.

“Good.”

The boy’s ardent beam unnerved him, and Cullen wasn’t quite sure what it signified.

“Solas, would you come with me to look for her?” he asked.

“Of course, Commander. I would not abandon Fay.”

Cullen scanned the valley they had traversed below, the onus of Solas’ statement galling him. Skilled hedge mage or not, if they had ever come to blows back in Kirkwall when he was Knight-Captain he had no doubts as to who would have triumphed in that confrontation. Cullen huffed, watching the clouds of his breath being snatched away, and reined in his fractious mood. Immaturity was not going to fix his perforated pride, and Solas was right. He had forsaken her.

Cullen diverted his thoughts back to what was important. “We need to prepare as quickly as we can. Rations, clothing, medicine...”

“I can do that. Quiet, in and out, no-one will mind. No-one will remember” and with that Cole vanished.

“What in the Maker’s name?!”

“He is a spirit, Commander, not bound by laws of the earth with which we are used to” Solas reasoned. “Cole will return with what we need.”

“R-right. Of course. We will discuss this, him, later... I need to inform the others to keep our departure as inconspicuous as possible.”

The three of them set out, trudging through the thickening sheets of snow papering over the treacherous slope of the gorge down towards where Haven had once nestled. The descent was faster than the initial journey upwards, but still just as arduous. With Cullen’s apprehensive permission, Solas cast a warming barrier over them against the snowstorm. Visibility reduced to just a few arm lengths through the oscillating white specks, and Cole did not stray too far as he directed them to Fay, knowing that they would soon lose him if he did. They spoke little, the gale drowning out their voices and making it so they had to yell in order to communicate with each other.

Solas’ hand on his arm made Cullen pull up, and he looked to where the mage was pointing. Something had been dragged through the drift ahead, the imprint sheltered by an overhanging rock ledge from the blustering snow. They approached the entrance to a cave in the rock face, and Cullen realised that Cole nowhere in sight.

“Cole?” Cullen shouted.

“Inside, Commander” Solas confirmed.

Cullen nodded, his gloved hand finding its routine clasp around the hilt of his sword. There could be anything in the cave: demons left over from the breach, wolves, a bear, even a red lion. If Fay was in there as Cole seemed to think, she was unarmed and injured- hadn’t the boy mentioned that he ‘heard’ her in a lot of pain? Cullen propelled himself through the snow and into the dim cavern, the magic of Solas’ barrier around him switching to one of resilience in case of attack. The ex-Templar part of him shuddered at the feeling, but he pushed it aside and tried to welcome the fact that the mage was mindful of his protection.

“Here! Tired, but she can’t sleep or the frost will take her” Cole’s voice echoed.

A ball of conjured light illuminated the interior and he ran to the still form lying at the rear of the chamber. Cole was kneeling by Fay, shaking her shoulders and calling her name. She was really here, and by the Maker’s grace they had actually found her. Cullen’s heart skipped in panic that they were too late, until he saw her eyelids flutter. There was a track of blood across the stone, her foot twisted by a break, and her lips were tinged blue.

“Solas...”

But Solas was already dropping to the floor opposite Cole, his hands crackling with magic.

“You must try to rouse her, Commander. She is there, just below the surface, but if she sinks any further I fear that I may not be able to bring her back.”

Cole moved so that Cullen could take his place. He sat and lifted Fay up against his chest, making sure that her head was against the fur collar of the cloak over his armour rather than on hard, icy metal. Crooking his left arm in support, he yanked his glove free with his teeth so that he could stroke her hair from her bruised face. She seemed so small in his arms, and Cullen regretted not being her bulwark against that abomination and his dragon.

“Fay, I know I haven’t earned the right to ask, but please continue to fight. I’m sorry, I let you down. Please, forgive me and stay with me.”

She twitched at his fingers tracing along her skin and opened her eyes. Looking at him groggily, Fay studied him with confusion and tried to push him away.

“I don’t love you anymore, Andrew. You shouldn’t be here, I don’t want you here” she protested. “You left... I had no choice, I wanted to live. I don’t love you.”

She began to shiver as she sagged against him, and Cullen was crestfallen at her delirious rambling. He didn’t know who this man- Andrew - was, but he didn’t want Fay to associate the same trauma to him. He had to make amends because, in a way, he had left her too. Solas looked over at Cullen, his magic still working to raise Fay’s temperature and heal her injuries.

“Her husband, you look a lot like him” the elf said.

“Lover. Husband. Father. He didn’t want her anymore” Cole said, unpacking the blankets and dry clothing from the pack he had stashed them in. “I can’t take away that hurt, I can’t make her forget” the boy added sadly.


	35. Chapter 35

Fay had come around at one point to see Andrew staring down at her, and for that transient period of waking she had forgotten all about Thedas and the trials she had been put through: The months of separation from her daughter, of learning to fight, being infected by some substance unknown to her world and gaining abilities that bordered on magical- all the things that would gain her a fast pass into the nearest asylum. No, Andrew had done this to her. Shoved her over the edge; jilting the virtues that their marriage was supposed to represent had been the final straw to splinter her reality, and she loathed him for it. How could someone she had adored turn out to be so superficial and cruel?

“Fay, it’s me. Cullen. You’re going to be alright. Solas is here with me to heal and take care of you, and I won’t leave you. I swear.”

Cullen, Fay thought blearily. A reflection of what was- a closure and a new chapter. Inversely to the kiss with Alistair, Cullen’s had been more than an unambiguous liberation of stress. Fay hadn’t dared to aspire for happiness again, and the complication of their farewell was supposed to have been irrevocably stemmed by her demise. Things seldom worked out in a way she could forecast and, ironically, in that manner things were consistent as always.

Sexual contact and partnership had been neglected since her husband’s rejection, but the Fay emerging from the chrysalis of low self-esteem was ready to start anew if she could work out how. ‘One foot in front of the other’, wasn’t that what Varric always proposed when she went to him for guidance? The only thing she could not replace, or want to, was Rebecca. In these lands of mysticism and sorcery, if something existed to sunder the veil, another mage somewhere could reunite them. There had to be.

Fay heard Cullen repeating her name as she wandered, and he kept her from delving too far into the murky brume. Spectres chased after her as she dozed and though they didn’t show themselves, she knew what they were: a crimson behemoth, a looming epitome of decay, and a dragon. She hurtled on, taking wing as a swallow aloft the phantasmagoria of carnage to make the prolonged migration back. If the factors leading to the future one year hence were not obviated, then all of Thedas, and therefore any scope of seeing her daughter again, was in jeopardy.

“I am done for now, Commander. There was a great deal of internal bleeding. Damage likely sustained from a fall, along with the fracture to her leg. She will recover. It would be wise to wait out this storm and take her to camp in the morning. I will mark heat runes on the rocks for us in the meantime.”

“Thank you, Solas.”

“Of course, think nothing of it. Cole, you brought a change of garments? Ah, yes. Good. We will need to get her into dry clothing. Commander, if you would give me a hand...”  

Fay was jostled and her damp tunic and leathers stripped, replaced by something that felt scratchy and coarse like linen. Still rendered fatigued by a thawing hibernal lethargy, she listened to their conversation as she was lifted and then laid back down. A heavy cover smelling faintly of oil, leather, and smoke was swaddled around her, generating a snug pocket of warmth. Fay tried to stir, but had to submit herself to coming around as her faculties dictated when finding that she could not make a sound nor peek at her comrades.

“Was it torture, or... Solas, what happened to her?”

Cullen’s bothered tone came from overhead. It was his lap that she was resting on, and he petted at her temples in a way that was soporific. Fay didn’t want him to find out this way, though the embarrassment of broaching the subject was out of her hands now.

“It was done to heal her.”

“Maker’s breath. Why did she have to go through _that_?”

She heard a long sigh, a scrape of movement on the ground nearby. “Where Fay is from, there is a prevalent, deadly disease. In some cases, it is curable by harsh methods.” Solas explained. “They call it cancer. It can cause the cells within the body to reconstruct incorrectly, form tumours and spread. Fay found tumours in her breasts a few years ago. From what I gather, after various medicines were administered, the healers did the surgery to remove them so that the disease would not return or spread further.”

She had been kept in hospital for a week after the double mastectomy because of the drains, and from overstretching and doing herself an injury right after surgery that caused a sharp stabbing to reduce her to tears each time she needed to get up and go to the toilet adjoining her room. Though the painkillers prescribed had been potent, there had been an indescribable, deep-rooted ache as nerves and muscles repaired for weeks after. The phantom feeling of nipples had been the oddest, and funniest thing in hindsight, to try and ignore. Childbirth had been a breeze in comparison; at least that had not left her with scars which almost met at the centre of her chest from where they started in her armpits.

“She must see her daughter grow up and marry, have children of her own. That got her through the darkness. The journal for Rebecca was in her cabin, flames ready to consume the memories, until I found it. Fay would have been sad.”

“That was kind, Cole, thank you” Solas said with a smile in his voice.

“I gave it to Dorian, he will keep it safe. You don’t like him, but you should. He doesn’t see her that way.”

The criticism was to Cullen, and Fay’s head wobbled on his legs as he fidgeted in annoyance.

“I will try to reserve my misgivings” was his reply.

Fay had an inkling that the eccentric boy was a medium, a psychic, or maybe had a gift of intuition about people. She was also fairly sure that she had come across him someplace before, but couldn’t remember where or when.

“Dorian’s foundation in magic is of an eminent intelligence, even if those foundations were built by his Tevinter lineage upon the bones of my people. Their bond has grown to one of siblings, and Dorian has been zealous of his supervision of Fay since Redcliffe. That is what counts.”

“He seems to know her better than I do after the months she has spent with the Inquisition. I assume that I am the last to know about... her physical appearance? ”

“Of those who are closest to her, yes. Fay had her reasons for not telling you, but I am surprised that you had not noticed given your attraction to each other.”

“I didn’t really give it much thought. She could have just been, ahem, a smaller build than other women. Maker’s breath, I don’t know.”

“She didn’t tell you because of him” Cole said.

“Cole is correct. It is not for me to meddle in Fay’s affairs. However, I will say this: Fear of history repeating itself prevented her from being entirely candid with you, Commander.”

“I can put the pieces together” Cullen said.

“A world where demands are imposed upon the population daily, for form and function, and where people live next door to others yet do not speak to their neighbours. A husband may walk out on his wife, the commitment of family, because flesh is sought over mind and spirit... Fay’s normality is centuries ahead of ours, but still barbaric.”

“Then let us hope that Thedas can do better.”

“The flaws and troubles of our fragmented society are different, but not any less severe.”

“I have faith the Inquisition can bring back the order that the chantry lost through inaction, make a difference, and restore stability. We have to at least try, now more than ever.”

“Indeed.”

The three were silent for a while, and Cullen’s fingers eventually came to rest as she drifted into slumber. His hand was cool against her cheek, a constant, light touch to let her know that they were still keeping vigil over her.

Haven had just been the beginning. Fay was committed to a new identity and purpose, whether she wanted it or not. What would she be remembered for? That was one of the things she had thought about when going through the cancer treatment. There was no legacy to be proud of, no achievements that would make people’s lives better, or change the world in any way. No words typed and bound, to live on when she was no longer there. A name turning to dust, forgotten. To be a part of something, rather than wilting to nothingness, that was a second chance she would not squander. Maybe their Maker didn’t have it in for her quite as much as she considered.


	36. Chapter 36

The survivors of Haven had carried as many essentials and equipment that they could find with them. But, given the urgency of their departure, what they had, amounted to very little. Iron Bull and the Chargers made a trip back to the ruined site, bringing some materials and tools that could be put to use. There were only a few tents, and they were set up to house the chantry sisters, children, the sick, and the injured. Everyone else crammed beneath awnings of repurposed fabric and leather lashed to tree branches encompassing the clearing. Fire pits were lit to boil pots of water, stews, and soups of whatever game the hunters could find, Flissa overseeing that everyone got something to eat and were kept hydrated. People organised to gather, mend, and make what they could, but all-in-all they needed to find a better location.

Cullen had carried Fay back from the cave to camp, still dopey from all the healing potions and magic Solas had used on her during the night, and they had been met with astonished cheers, praises to the Maker and cries of relief. It was quite touching in a way, that so many seemed to care about her return, though escaping any of that ‘Herald’ shit was now a foregone conclusion. Solas had deemed Fay fit enough to leave the healer’s tent by mid-afternoon, and she made a beeline for the fire where Dorian was finishing up crushing and mixing herbs for Adan to make poultices. Mother Giselle kept giving Fay a contemplative look, which could only mean that she meant to corner her at some point. Fay was not ready to have any sort of conversation about religion or miracles, but she knew she couldn’t avoid the woman forever.

Dorian had Fay’s journal, just as Cole had said, though the mage couldn’t say exactly how he’d received it. She spent some time flipping through the pages and the drawings she had done of Haven- the chantry building, the frozen lake, a quick sketch of the layout of the village. She sighed, leaning against Dorian and wondering how the Inquisition could rebound from this blow. If she could get a message to Alistair, would he be able to do something for them? She should discuss it with Josephine, once the advisors stopped arguing about what they were going to do about the Elder One and the Red Templars.

“You little shit, you did it again. Do you know how worried I was _this_ time?”

“Hah! I can see this becoming a trend, Varric.”

The dwarf grinned and shook his head. “It better not be, Mouse” he said, plonking himself down by the fire and reaching into his jacket.

Smokers reached into their coat pockets for their cigarettes, Varric for his flask. That was one habit that didn’t seem to be all that popular in Thedas, Fay couldn’t think of anyone she had seen smoking. Perhaps tobacco didn’t grow here. Did they have anything like pot? She hadn’t been a smoker back on Earth, but had dabbled with marijuana in her youth. As bad as it was, fuck, what she wouldn’t do for a joint round about now. No hangover, just a merry buzz, and being so monged that Corypheus wouldn’t worry the crap out of her.

“I want a new nickname” she told him, “I think I’ve earned a better one than that.”

“Nope” he took a swig and handed it over. “Once given, it can never be changed.”

“Why exactly did you call her Mouse anyway?” Dorian asked, stealing the flask from Fay before she could lift it to her lips and taste a drop of alcohol.

“Hey!”

“You’re still recovering. I wouldn’t want it to interfere with... something.”

“Pfft, that’s a terrible excuse. I’m surprised you’d touch that swill anyway. It certainly doesn’t contain grapes crushed beneath the supple, oiled thighs of a young chevalier, or whatever it is that floats your boat.”

“Boat? Mother used to take me out on a boat when I was little. Her servants, anyway.”

“A big boat?” Fay smirked.

Dorian tugged at his moustache. “Ah, you will never know. You’re not a young chevalier.”

Varric looked at them flummoxed, scratching his head. “I’m not sure I know what either of you is going on about, and frankly I don’t think I want to. But, back to the question at hand. Our glorious Herald wasn’t much of a fighter to begin with-”

“Aww, is that nearly a compliment my vertically challenged friend?”

“You’re not that much taller than me, you know” Varric grumbled. “Anyway, Sparkler wants to hear all about your first demon encounter, and you’re not going to wheedle out of it, so quit interrupting.”

“Technically it wasn’t my first, but Cassandra is a lady, and she will never tell. Unlike you.”

“No, he certainly wouldn’t make a very good lady” Dorian chirped. “Far too much chest hair.”

“He could shave, or wax...”

“Fay was cornered by a Shade” Varric said, ignoring the mid-digit flashed at him by Fay, “and somehow managed to squeeze into a gap under an overturned supply wagon that had been headed for the soldiers at the temple. Like a mouse in a bolthole, whiskers all aquiver, and waiting for one of us to take the big, bad, mean, demon away for her.” He rubbed his hands together, snorting with amusement at the recollection, and winked at her.

“You’re a real arse, you know that right?”

Dorian chuckled and squeezed her arm. “It’s alright darling, I shall only use that against you when I really need to.”

“Where I’m from, sparklers are full of fizz but no bang... A bit like how I was going to make my dramatic departure from Thedas when the Elder One came swooping in on his dragon” she joked.

“You gave the Commander fizz, but will he get the-”

“Dorian! And I do not permit you to write that down, Varric.”

The storyteller shrugged, his countenance suggesting it was already mentally penned. The Inquisition advisors’ argument had finally stopped, and she focused to where Cullen was sulking across the other side of camp.

“Corypheus won’t have much need to come after us if they continue to rip each other to shreds for him.”

Varric spluttered and turned white.

“Shit, Mouse. What did you just say?”

“Oh yeah, Corypheus. The Elder One. He was the prick who tried to kill us all.”

“That can’t be right.”

Varric pulled at his sleeve, not noticing the exchange of confused glances between her and Dorian.

“It’s not like I picked a random name. If I had, I would have settled for something involving far more swear words” she said.

Varric leapt up, hurrying away without a word and before she could question why he was suddenly so upset.

“What the fuck...?”

Dorian squinted after him. “Our dwarven friend is clearly concealing something.”

The mood had soured, the notion of Varric keeping anything from her was unsettling. Hypocrite, she thought, you haven’t been forthcoming with everyone either. Cullen caught her eye and gave a tight smile, his shoulders raised high with tension. For all their interactions, discussions, and disagreements, they hadn’t really _talked_ to each other. Not enough. Fay decided that now was as good a time as any, she could at least see if he needed her to help with anything now that she was feeling better.

Dorian nudged her. “Go on” he said with a knowing smile.

“That obvious?”

His expression shifted as he spotted someone over her shoulder. “Better go quick before-”

“Herald, it is good to see you back on your feet. Might I have a moment?” Mother Giselle asked politely, bowing her head.

“Too late” he whispered.

The revered mother provided some insight as to how her actions appeared preordained, even if Fay did not agree. She had not resurrected, like a second coming of Christ, but the people searching for any signs that their Maker had not completely turned His back on them saw her survival as precisely that. It was she had expected, but it did not make it any easier to hear. The badge of Herald was like a boomerang: Fay tried to discard it, and it always came spinning back to her. People had fallen in her defence when Corypheus attacked, and it would be nothing short of egocentric now to discount the hope inspired at having the ‘Herald of Andraste’ on their side. So, she would nod and agree, because faith was the only thing a lot of them had left after Haven, and she couldn’t take that from them.

When their discussion was at an end and Fay started to walk away, Mother Giselle had begun to sing. A bewitching song, like a hymn, that had started out quietly at first, until everyone around the camp had joined in. Inquistion members knelt before her, saluting or holding their hands together in prayer, and Fay froze.

_Shadows fall and hope has fled._

_Steel your heart, the dawn will come._

_The night is long and the path is dark._

_Look to the sky, for one day soon,_

_The dawn will come._

_The shepherd’s lost, and his home is far._

_Keep to the stars, the dawn will come._

_The night is long, and the path is dark._

_Look to the sky, for one day soon,_

_The dawn will come._

_Bare your blade, and raise it high._

_Stand your ground, the dawn will come._

_The night is long, and the path is dark._

_Look to the sky, for one day soon,_

_The dawn will come._

“An army needs more than an enemy. It also needs a cause” Mother Giselle said to Fay quietly.

Solas, who had been watching the whole mortifying gathering, walked over and beckoned for her to follow him.

“A word?” he requested.

Fay was glad of any distraction from what had just happened, wishing he’d found her earlier, instead of having to stand through all of that.

“What just... ugh. Solas, please tell me we’re in the fade or something.”

Solas lit a torch with his magic and nodded in sympathy, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Ah, da’len, I’m afraid I cannot. I understand your reservations of having this type of regard thrust upon you, but you must also see it’s importance in winning the fight against Corypheus?”

Fay groaned, rubbing at the top of her head where she could feel a headache beginning to twinge.

“That they are looking past the red lyrium I have in me, which represents nothing but terrible things and is completely irregular, makes it apparent how much they want to think we are on blessed mission. Most- if not all - saw me using those abilities, and even the Templars have not disputed it with myself or Cullen- at least not yet. So yes, to gather forces and give them the drive to succeed, I know how important this is.”

“Good. I did not doubt you, but sometimes it is beneficial to state salient facts so that we do not overlook them.”

“I’m not sure how long that will help us through, with Haven gone and supplies low. I need to talk to Josephine...”

“I have a solution” Solas said, raising an eyebrow and watching her carefully. “I also need to discuss the orb Corypheus held.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'The Dawn Will Come' - song from the game, Dragon Age Inquisition.  
> (All Music is owned by EA and Bioware)


	37. Chapter 37

Skyhold was dilapidated and in need of repair, but it was beautiful. Inside the battlement walls the courtyard was split into two levels with a large open barn and stables at the end nearest the portcullis gate, which was currently blocked off by rubble. There were wall towers and corner towers large enough to provide storage and temporary accommodation until proper renovation was underway, and a huge keep with stairways leading up to the doors from either side and an archway beneath. Fay could see stained glass windows with a twisting motif of vines and leaves, a balcony overlooking the fortress that likely boasted spectacular views of the mountain range around them, and a tall circular tower adjoining the hall.

Whoever was responsible for overseeing the construction had thought of everything. There was a walled garden where Adan was confident they could cultivate rare herbs in the mineral rich soil, a well, an underground dungeon, an area large enough for sparring and training, a place for an armoury, and even a building that Sera, Varric, Iron Bull and the Chargers were enthusiastically petitioning to set up as a tavern. Fay had not ventured there yet, but Harritt was apparently stationed in a massive undercroft with a forge, anvil and enough tools to be able to service their soldiers with decent armour- given the right materials.

Skyhold was strategically positioned and elevated in such a way that made it impregnable, and capable of seeing anyone that might approach it from miles away. How, or why, anyone would give the place up was unfathomable. It was exactly what they needed, when they needed it. They were indebted to Solas for having discovered knowledge of Skyhold whilst dreaming in the fade as he did, though he would take no credit for guiding them there. That had been passed to Fay; the people’s Herald leading them on to a new sanctuary- a new haven. Tarasyl’an Te’las, the place where the sky was held back. The name was poetically fitting of the Inquisition’s formation: To mend the hole in the veil caused by Corypheus, with what Fay had come to learn was a relic of ancient elven magic.

Cassandra waved Fay over to where she, Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine were gathered in discussion. Cullen smiled as she joined them, but Fay hadn’t had the chance to speak with him alone yet to know if it signified just friendship, or something else. Had she read too much into the kiss he had given her? He wasn’t avoiding her per say, Fay knew that he was busy, but Cullen hadn’t actively tried to seek her out since their arrival at Skyhold either. Maybe he had changed his mind, if he had felt anything for her before, and would rather pretend that it hadn’t happened.

“There you are” Cassandra said.

The other three advisors scattered, and Fay wondered if she was in trouble for something. Not that she had done anything to be reprimanded for, but being pulled aside by Cassandra could easily instil that kind of baseless worry in a person.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Fay asked. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it” she added.

Cassandra rolled her eyes and gave a small grunt, setting off at a leisurely pace towards the keep.

“Sometimes I think you spend too much time with Varric” the Seeker said.

“Or not enough. That dwarf certainly gets through some crap unscathed, doesn’t he? I could do with taking a lesson from that. If I knew what it was.”

“I think you are doing well enough on your own. The outcome after Haven could have been a lot worse.”

Cassandra paused to scan around the courtyard at the people chatting and working together. Fay was glad to see that some of them looked happy again. It would take time to reconcile the Red Templars crushing Haven beneath their heels, but Fay had come to learn that the people of Thedas were used to bouncing back after a crisis.

“Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage” Cassandra continued. “Word of your heroism has spread-”

“Oh, please. None of that.”

“You may not see it as such, but your altruism gave these people a chance that they would otherwise not have had. They, we, owe our lives to you.”

Fay blushed and followed Cassandra up the steps, glad that no-one else was around to hear the Seeker’s glowing compliment.

She shrugged. “I did what had to be done.”

“You discount yourself too much, but we all see what allowed to stand up to Corypheus.”

“It doesn’t matter, it didn’t change enough. He’s still out there.” Fay held out her marked hand. “Corypehus said I was trying to replicate the gods of old, whatever that’s supposed to mean, but it’s clear he considers me a threat to eradicate. A pest.”

“The Inquisition will do everything it can to protect you, Fay. Your drive, generosity, and selflessness has lead us here.”

“I didn’t get this far without help, from everyone” Fay reminded her.

Cassandra turned to her as they reached the small landing at the top of the stairway.

“The Inquisition needs a leader.”

“Having a principal head directing the Inquisition’s intent is a sound idea. Have you decided which one of you it will be?”

“The one who has already been leading it” Cassandra said with a ghost of a smile on her lips.

Fay tilted her head at Cassandra’s oblique confirmation. It could be Cullen, he trained and led the troops, but then Cassandra was the one to break away from the chantry and bring the Inquisition into being...

“You.”

Fay stared at Cassandra blankly. She must be hearing things.

“Sorry, what?”

“You, Fay.”

Leliana, unnoticed until now, stepped out from behind Cassandra holding a ceremonial sword on her outstretched palms. Fay heard a scuff of movement and looked down at the courtyard below. Fuck. No. This could not be happening. Every member of the Inquisition was down there, staring up at her expectantly: Cullen emanating calm authority, Josephine and Varric grinning with cheer, Iron Bull and the Chargers giving her the ‘horns up’ salute, Dorian tugging at his moustache and looking smug- she’d remember to pinch him for that later - and even Vivienne with an unmistakable ‘don’t fuck this up, dear’ glint in her eyes.

“You can’t be serious” Fay whispered hoarsely, “you can’t have agreed that I was the most suitable candidate out of all of you. Cassandra, I’m not even-”

“Fay, we respect and trust in you. Will you lead us?”

Somehow, she battened down the negativity swelling inside her, raised the sword high to the cheering of the crowd, and proclaimed that Corypheus would be defeated. Her chains to Thedas were secured. Inquisitor- they made her the bloody Inquisitor.

“You’re all fucking mad” Fay said to the advisors when they retreated to the privacy of the main hall.

Her knees buckled and she put out her hands to steady herself, but there was nothing within reach. An arm hooked around her waist, a silver vambrace and black glove, the scent of oil, metal and leather. She tilted her head up to see Cullen, his golden eyes looking down at her with concern.

“Are you alright?”

“No. I need to sit.”

He helped her to the side of the hall and she perched on top of a table, not caring about the grimy surface. His arm lingered, and her seated position meant that Cullen was standing close with his leg pressed to the inside of her thigh. His right cheek raised proud in a lopsided, seductive smirk at Fay’s fixation on the scar she found so alluring on his top lip.

“We need to talk” she said to him, “later.”

Cullen nodded and leant so that his mouth was next to her ear. “I think so, Inquisitor” he said in low, husky acceptance.

He stepped aside, though stayed by the table where she was sitting, and Fay’s face heated in recognition that Leliana, Cassandra and Josephine were waiting for them patiently to begin their talks.

“To work, then?” she said to Cullen with a chuckle.

“To work.” He nodded, dropping back into his role as commander. “This is where it all begins.”

“It began in the courtyard” Leliana corrected, “this is where we turn our promise to action. I would feel happier if we knew more about this Corypheus, though we do know what he intends to do next.”

“The assassination of Empress Celene. Imagine the chaos it would cause if Orlais was to fall” Josephine said. Her quill scratched against the parchment on her board. “We will of course send warning, but it is Orlais... these things are sadly common and our message may not be treated with the seriousness it should. There is a ball due in a few months, a prime opportunity for us, and also any would-be assassin. I will work to secure our invitation.”

“Good idea, Josie. I will have my agents keep low to the ground near the palace. Anything slightly out of place, and they shall report to me immediately. I would also like to send agents to underground sources- scribes, scholars, researchers working outside of the approved schools of study. They may be able to dig up more information for us on the magister.”

Fay nodded, they were all solid footholds the Inquisition would require.

“In the meantime I suggest returning to the field and keeping the Inquisition’s name in people’s good graces. There will still be smaller rifts left that need sealing.”


	38. Chapter 38

Cullen made a mental list of everything still needed to transform the central wall tower between the training grounds, armoury, and the gate into a functional office. The desk was good enough, as were the bookcases- although their shelves did not contain tomes that he would personally find useful. But, of the three doorways, the two leading to the ramparts running northwest to southeast were barricaded by fallen beams, barrels, and crates. They would have to be cleared, and in the loft there was a sizeable hole to be patched in the roof. He also had to get hold of another armour stand and weapon rack...

“Your new office?”

Cullen stood from crouching by the boxes he had been poking around in, full of knickknacks that appeared Orlesian if he was any judge of their fancy craftsmanship; the ambassador would probably be thrilled by their find. The underlying structure of Skyhold was elven, with a mix of Ferelden and Free Marches architectural additions to the fortifications built at later stages. There was even a dwarven statue in one of the underground chambers below the main hall, carved in a similar style to those depicting the paragons in Orzammar. It had him pondering just how many times the place had changed hands before they arrived.

“It seems ideal, and the causeway links this particular tower to the keep” he answered. “We are lucky to have such a place- apart from a few minor and cosmetic repairs, Skyhold is overall sound.”

Fay nodded distractedly, inspecting the sculpted owl that was set above the arrowslit window.

“Inquisitor.”

That got her attention; another title and she hated it, he knew that. Fay scowled at him, her back straightening and a flicker of energy across her aura.

“ _Commander_.”

“I apologise, I-”

“Wanted to get a rise out of me? We were going to talk, not antagonise each other.”

Cullen passed her and shut the door, leaning against the wood after hearing the catch click shut, with his posture hunched in resignation. She was right, and she deserved to know. Since Fay returned with that infusion of reformed red lyrium, the gulf left inside him from the discharge of the Templar’s blue contamination wanted to surfeit itself with the song, _her_ song, whenever she was near.

The red amplified and reshaped his confidence into a lust for dominance over it, over her, and he was afraid of becoming that sort of man: One who provoked a fiery confrontation just to douse it, as a means of gratification. An offensive sentiment- was it jealousy? - of the power granted to her was erroneous, and Cullen wasn’t sure how far he could restrain himself. The weaker his withdrawal made him, the worse it was.

“I’m losing.”

Cullen tried to reorganise his thoughts, setting up their pieces as if laying them out on a chessboard. He paved the way to his admittance, picturing it in his mind’s eye. Getting there, and limiting the damage to their friendship, was the tournament ahead.

“Losing what, Cullen?”

“I-It’s been a long while since I’ve cared for anyone in the, erm, well, personal way that I have come to care for you. But...”

He had never been good at this sort of disclosure. Cullen massaged the back of his neck as he envisaged the next move that he had to make. How could he plainly articulate something as deviant as the baleful hunger that could easily destroy him?

“You’d rather not consider me in that way, not since you saw me exposed in that cave after the attack on Haven? I can’t say I’m not disappointed, though your let down at least is not as degrading as my husbands was” she guessed incorrectly.

“No! It’s not that at all. Fay, I fell for you and not-” Cullen shook his head.

He should have realised that this would seem like a shallow rebuff to her, but it wasn’t the case.

Fay put a tentative hand on his arm. “I don’t get it, Cullen. Your moods are so changeable of late, and I can’t get a positive read on where it leaves us. Earlier I would have said you were keen, but now...”

“I was, I am-”

He couldn’t be with her, not without getting himself straight first. He had to make her see that somehow.

“Redcliffe” she said abruptly. “You began acting odd, like this, when I returned from Redcliffe. The red lyrium? That’s what she meant.”

Cullen didn’t know who ‘she’ was, though it didn’t matter. He needed Fay to understand the obstacles standing in his way, to explain that it wasn’t through any transgression she had foisted upon him.

“It-it does something to me; something I do not like, or want to have to recognise in myself” he confessed. “The melody- it changes my priorities... stirs a primitive, tactless beast that vies for command and is difficult to deny. Us, a relationship? There’s nothing I want more. But, until I can get through this, prevent the conflict of who I am and what I feel, it wouldn’t be right.”

Fay’s hand returned to hang limply at her side. She looked downcast, confused. Why wouldn’t she be? He had led her down this route. The charge winding its way around her aura was increasing with her emotional flux and it skimmed over his nerves, making the muscles in his abdomen tense at its vigour.

“Why?” she asked him. “It doesn’t seem to have the same impact on anyone else, even the Templars that joined us, so why you?”

“Lyrium gives Templars their abilities, but it also controls us. After Kirkwall, I couldn’t be bound to that life anymore- the Order, the chantry. I no longer take it, and haven’t for months since joining the Inquisition. I’ve known many Templars that tried to relinquish its grip, who died or went mad trying. But I can’t, Fay, I can’t go back to taking it again.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to. If there’s anything I can do, you will tell me, won’t you?”

Fay’s sincerity, her concern for him taking precedent above her own discontent at the turn of their conversation, was just another admirable trait that captivated him. Maker, no, he did not merit Fay’s affection with the deteriorating curb he had over his addiction.

“Thank you, Fay, but I have yet to find a way of alleviating the thirst. A thirst to have what I want... and hang the consequences.”

His voice had deepened in an unwitting provocation. Cullen watched her lick her lips, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, the hitch in her breath. Fay took a shaky step back, bumping her hip against the desk and knocking an empty bottle to the floor. The smashing of the glass brought him round from the muddled stupor he had slipped into, and Cullen realised that he still stood barring the only exit out of the room.

“Shit, I’m sorry. That was clumsy, I just, well, you took me by surprise.”

Cullen groaned, his face heating. “It wasn’t really meant to come out sounding like that.”

Fay laughed, her knees popping as she bent down to pick up the larger pieces. “It certainly wasn’t helping this, well, turning down speech. Your tone does things to me when it drops like- ouch!”

Her fingers caught on the edge of a shard, blood welling to the surface and dripping small beads onto the worn floorboards. Cullen swept aside the rest of the broken glass with his boot, and knelt down to take a closer look at the cuts. It was in that instant he was overcome, an onlooker to his compulsion. He had lifted her fingers to his lips, an infantile act to kiss the pain of the injury away, but he found himself taking the soft pads into his mouth and licking at the blood with his tongue. He could taste the appetizing substance that was a part of her, and the unruly temptation was too much. His mouth crashed to meet Fay’s in a rough kiss, blood and saliva mingling to heighten his excitement.

This waywardness was precisely what Cullen had flagged to her as warning, and yet he could not stop. Fay should have steadfast stability from any man she would call her lover, and he couldn’t offer her that. Not with his infirmity. To do this now was improper, immoral. But Fay’s shallow panting and wanton moans matched his own, making him crave hearing more of those needy sounds. With no sign of resistance, Cullen’s bestial soul bellowed in victory of the possessive advances she so readily accepted; without Fay pushing him away, he was not strong enough to stall the inevitable.

The clothing impeding their roaming hands was stripped away as they devoured each other with sinful kisses, touching, and groping. Cullen sent his armour parts clanging to the floor, uncaring of any scuffs or scratches, and his simple linen shirt joining the disorderly pile of Fay’s own garments. Her skin was smooth and supple beneath his calloused hands, lustrous as moonlight. The late afternoon sun shone through the window of the ramshackle room, his new office, bathing her with gentle rays highlighting the divinity he wanted to despoil. Fay tugged purposefully at his trousers, freeing his straining erection to the nip in the air, and Cullen was fast astray from whatever was left of his common-sense as her head ducked down and the hotness of her mouth enveloped him.

Cullen wove his fingers into Fay’s hair, setting the pace he sought with her nose pressing to his pubic bone with every long, throat-filled suck and thrust. He threw his head back as she cupped and squeezed at his swelling balls, each rapid motion sending an electric spasm of ecstasy through his body. Her floral scent, the intensity of her aura with her arousal, the toying of her hands and mouth where he had so long dreamt them to be... His grunts resounded, rising in volume as she masterfully drew him to his peak. But he was not going to finish yet, not like this. Cullen gripped her shoulders and Fay paused in her ministrations, releasing him with a final lapping of her adept tongue.

He guided Fay onto her back, hastily yanking off her boots and trousers, and braced himself over her shapely figure: her wide hips, slim waistline, and toned stomach, calves, and thighs. Throbbing, grinding, the bare friction of their naked contact elicited gasps of anticipation. Trailing his lips along her neck- the lacerations he had inflicted slowly fading - and kissing at the grievous scars she had been reserved to expose to him on her chest, Cullen inched his way down and parted her knees. Even with an excruciating desire to sink inside of her, he was not an inconsiderate partner.

Circling his thumb on her nub, he slid his index finger into her wetness and bent it upwards to find the pressure point tucked inside. His thumb was joined by his mouth, his tongue darting eagerly to relish her sweet stickiness. He inserted two more fingers to stretch and fill her, gliding them in and out, pumping and pushing up at the sensitive spot that had her begging him for the completeness he could give her. Fay writhed and bucked, riding his hand faster as Cullen brought her high to the summit. Her frenzied cries were a delicious sound.

Cullen secured both of her wrists in one hand, pinning her arms high above her head. Slicking himself with her juices, he ran his tip up and down her folds, flicking at her hypersensitive nub, and smirking slyly at her twitching. Fay’s legs wrapped over his hips in answer to his teasing, her feet pressing at his lower back and buttocks in an effort to make him relent. With one swift movement he slammed himself forwards, entering to the hilt, and growled at the feel of her tightness around him. Fay’s aura erupted with energy in her rapture, and Cullen used a weak silence to hold it back. A dangerous game, a key-turn closer to opening the cage and releasing the beast forever.

With Fay held down, trapped by the weight of his muscular physique, Cullen felt the feral empowerment overtake him. Her submissiveness, her aura dampened by his influence, and the way she moaned his name in chant of euphoric bliss was the aphrodisiac he- and the beast - hunted. Their bodies slapped together, the loud and lewd sound of their forceful coupling masking anything else that could be going on around them. There was only the here and now, the two of them drenched  in the sweat of their fervour as they rutted wildly.  

Fay contracted hard around him as she came with a ragged scream, and a pink flush  across her face and chest. Cullen’s own explosive climax was only seconds behind, his pounding rhythm stuttering and faltering. He buried his head into the crook of her neck and bit at her shoulder; the beast’s final act of marking what was his. But it wasn’t right, Fay was not his and couldn’t be. Appalled with himself, Cullen released the silence and freed her arms.

“Fay, I-”

But what could he say? There had been nothing saccharine to his ravishing, no tenderness to the coercion of her will, of her energy. He had treated her like an abusive Templar would treat a mage for sex, and...

“Cullen. I should have stopped you, I’m sorry. I can see it in your face, this change that takes you- it hurts you to fight it, _I_ hurt you.”

“This was not your fault.”

Cullen awkwardly withdrew and helped Fay to stand. He dismally noted that her wrists were red, and that there was a bruise already appearing on her shoulder. His thundering heart slowed, and they both re-dressed in a stunned contemplation of what just transpired between them.

Having smoothed down her jacket and straightened her hair with a tie, Fay helped him re-buckle and fix his armour into place. “Cullen” she said, pleading for him to meet her piercing azure gaze. “Just- just listen, okay?”

Though she didn’t look disgusted, or angry, he prepared himself for a verbal onslaught at the least. She may have consented, but after telling Fay that he couldn’t be in a relationship and then surrendering to his urges, he dreaded to think what she thought of him. He knew what _he_ thought of him.

“You hold a special place in here” Fay took his gloved hand in hers before placing it to her chest, “and you always will. Rebecca is there, and Andrew. Some people shape and stay with us forever, through the potency of our love or hate- or both, as with my husband. Or ex-husband, I guess.” She sighed. “I will always care about you, for you, and I couldn’t stand for you to feel guilty or upset because of me.”

“Fay, my behaviour was disgraceful. I silenced you, I exerted my will over yours and did exactly what I told you I would not, in a single-minded-”

She placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Cullen, the sex was good- did it not seem that I was enjoying myself?” she asked, looking up at him with her eyebrow cocked and a playful smile.

“Yes, b-but that’s not what I was getting at.”

“I know. I wasn’t aware of the stress you are under because of giving up the lyrium, and how the red lyrium only makes things worse. I meant what I said about if there is anything I can do to help you through this, though I worry I may exacerbate things as I already have done. That, or we end up rolling on the floor again.”

Cullen spluttered a shocked laugh. “Fay-”

“I’m sorry, I just- well, I already miss what can’t be.” Fay studied him, a wistful and saddened expression of a decision made. “Back home we have a saying: If you love someone, sometimes it is kinder to let them go. I suppose some things are always destined to turn out in a certain way... I realise that it’s _my_ turn to walk away this time. Just know that I don’t do it out of anything other than a love for you, Cullen.”

Maybe one day there would be another chance for them, Cullen thought. He hoped so, because he loved her too.


	39. Chapter 39

Fay had always found the feeling of the grass beneath her toes a restorative balm, a way of literally grounding herself and reassessing a problem in order to see it from a new perspective. Today it wasn’t working, but then today she had more than one problem.

“And this isn’t real” she spat in irritation.

“The fade doesn’t make anything more or less real.”

Fay pinpointed Solas lounging back on a bench a few yards away, one leg crossed over the other, looking out across the park. She wiggled her toes in the not-grass and strolled over to join him, where they sat together observing the indistinct images of the people in the memory around them. A dog walker passed with a chocolate coloured Labrador at their heels, followed by a couple jogging, and a family with a toddler in a pushchair. Fay couldn’t make out their faces because they were simply a representation of the sights she expected in the scene before her. This was not Goldbridge Park, it was not summertime, her house was not only a few miles away, and her daughter was not at school expecting to be collected later in the day.

“What are you doing here?”

“I felt a disturbance and came to investigate” Solas said. “I did not know that you were capable of dreaming lucidly like this, without assistance.”

Fay thought he seemed guarded, holding something back from her. Everyone had a lot on their minds since Haven though, and Solas had spent the past four days with the few healers that the Inquisition had, trying to get people back on their feet. The extreme weather conditions, and trek through the wilderness with minimal supplies to reach Skyhold, had caused some of their more elderly members’ health to decline.

“It’s become more customary over the months, and more-so since Redcliffe. I can’t make it show me anything specific though. The dream that comes to me when I fall asleep is the one I become aware in. Tonight, I guess I was thinking of the past, my old home, that sort of thing.”

“This place is one familiar to you, it will always be influential. Your dreams recreate memories like this with a greater frequency when you require comfort or reassurance.”

“That makes sense- wait... Solas, I thought you had to be invited to join someone else’s dream?”

“Ah, yes. Normally that is the case. I suspect the mark and the relium, as you call it, may have something to do with that, da’len.”

Fay narrowed her eyes at her friend. The elf was dressed in the same green tunic that Solas always wore, though in the fade that would count for nothing, and he had the same mannerisms. But that didn’t necessarily mean it was him, did it? Her link to the fade was not the same as for a mage, not as strong, and yet there was a niggle insisting she paid it serious regard.

“Or you could be a demon.”

“I could be” Solas agreed, “but I am not.”

He held out his hand and conjured a small flame on his upturned palm. Fay could feel the magic used to create it, and she knew without doubt that this was Solas and not an entity masquerading as him.

“You could have just said ‘you’re not a mage, Fay, don’t be absurd’ instead of making me double-guess myself and nearly having a panic attack.”

“It was a sensible concern to have. Leading on from that: I have theory about what Corypheus said to you, and it would preferably be something to discuss here in privacy.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Fay watched the Labrador bound after a squirrel, which escaped up into an old oak tree and left the dog circling the gnarled trunk trying to find out where it had gone. She could sympathise with pursuing after something only to have it dematerialise, Thedas had continued that trend of misfortune. Heaven forbid she should actually catch a break once in a while.

“He accused you of trying to replicate the gods of old. How much do you know about the Black City?” Solas asked.

Fay thought back to her history lessons in Josephine’s office. Chantry doctrine had been boring, not that she would have admitted that to any of the Inquisition’s founding members, but the pertinent bits had stuck.  

“Many in Thedas believe it to be the seat of the Maker, and that the once ‘Golden City’ blackened when magisters physically entered the fade. The chantry blames them for starting the blights, and they were reportedly the first darkspawn.”

To Fay it had read as propaganda galore: Tevinter was bad, the chantry would save pious souls from the sins of coveting what they were told they couldn’t have, and their Maker was the most important god out of any of the others.

“That is the accepted tale, yes. The High Priests to the Old Gods were taught blood magic as a means to achieve their task- by one called Dumat.”

“Tevinter, blood magic, alright. I get that- kind of. But I don’t understand why Corypheus attributed that to me.”

“He connected to the mark, the anchor, and tried to remove it.”

“Yes...? Solas, you know I usually appreciate you waiting for the penny to drop, but I have had one hell of a day and I don’t think my brain is going to catch up. Enlighten me.”

“The Tevinter gods of old used blood magic. Blood magic uses the energy found in blood to power its spells rather than from the fade, hence the name. You now have an aura, as a mage does, and the red lyrium has given you abilities that you fuel from within. You do not draw from the fade for those, even though the mark- or anchor - would appear to enable you to.”

Solas had to be winding her up, what he was trying to suggest was ludicrous.

“You’re saying that I’m a mage? Correction, you’re saying that I’m a _blood mage?”_

“Not by typically accepted standards, but then you are outside of many rules that would normally apply in this world.”

Blood mages were hated, considered the lowest possible denominator when it came to anything related to magic. Fay had only been able to glean a little, and most of it negative, but those practicing blood magic were thought to be at a higher risk from possession because they turned to summoning demons to boost their spells: Maybe because they did not siphon from the fade. There was probably a nugget of truth to that in the case of some, but there were others who did not resort to making bargains or doing anything, well, demonic. It was a sensitive subject after what Varric had divulged to Fay of Kirkwall, though he had vaguely mentioned in confidence having some friends who practiced the forbidden art.

“Shit. It might be true.”

Fay covered her face and shut her eyes. There had been one thing bugging her since the heated dalliance with Cullen, and she had initially discounted it as insignificant.

“He silenced me, and I could _feel_ the constraint of it. Templars have silenced me before, because of the mark, to no effect, and the Red Templars were too far removed from any coherence to try that move when they attacked us. I didn’t know anything had changed, but it obviously has.”

“Who silenced you, and what for?!”

Solas grabbed her forearm, pulling her hand away so that she would have to look at him. His expression was murderous, the perceived sleight against her enough to enrage and shatter his usual placidity.

“Cullen did, and uh, well... it was just sex. Don’t look like that! I-I’ll explain, minus details that I’m sure you don’t want or need to hear. You must keep this to yourself: Cullen stopped taking lyrium some time ago, but since I came back from Redcliffe he’s been finding it difficult to contend with the way I am now. The relium has a call- a song? He went slightly ‘master’ during our passionate moment because of it, but he hated himself afterwards.”

Solas loosened his hold, and his composure cooled as he digested what Fay had just told him of Cullen’s dilemma.

“I see. It does not excuse what he did, but it seems that it was not done out of malice. So, you and the Commander are-?”

“No. It cut me to the bone to see Cullen like that, because of something I can’t do anything about. He doesn’t need the stress of a relationship, of worrying about me- or what he’ll do around me - on top of everything else.”

“I am sorry, Fay. It’s plain to anyone just how much you mean to each other.”

“Cullen will always be important to me, and this won’t alter that. But, I should have known something would get in the way. My life is just one disaster after the other... ugh, now this. Solas, what does it mean- if I am what would be called a blood mage?”

“It would mean that you have potential to explore the use of other abilities, under strict observation and instruction of course. However, you should not forego your weapons training. Although a blood mage can push through a silence to use their spells, the effort of counteracting it in such a way depletes their casting energy twofold and has the possibility of causing lasting bodily harm.”

“We can’t tell anyone about this, they’d have a seizure. Shitting hell, especially Cullen.”

“I concur. If you accept, I offer my services to tutor you in the fade until such a time that we are away from those who may recognise the tricks in a blood mage’s arsenal. May I suggest perhaps taking Blackwall in the Seeker’s place when we head out from Skyhold?”

“I-I will make some reasonable suggestions to have a different party accompany us. Thank you, Solas.”

“My pleasure. Though the connotation of the name ‘Blood Mage’ may make you feel uneasy, you at least harbour no bias that would make you close-minded to its practicality.”

“I need all the help I can get. I’m a fish out of water, and who knows what else is going to emerge to scupper me next. We’ve already got an ancient magister with a dragon and a Red Templar army, I’m just waiting for a plague of locusts and the four horsemen to turn up.”

Solas tipped his head. “As interested as I am to learn of your reference, the sun will be rising soon and I have infringed upon your dream enough. There is also a spirit I wish to confer with before waking.”

“Good night, and good morning, Solas.”

“Farewell for now, da’len.”

He disappeared with a wave, and Fay was left to deliberate the enormity of it all: Inquisitor-cum-blood mage steering people’s fate? Varric couldn’t write a crazier story for all the sovereigns in Ferelden.


	40. Chapter 40

_Dear Inquisitor,_

_News reached Denerim of what befell Haven, and I would like to convey my deepest commiserations for all who lost their lives during the outrageous invasion by Corypheus and the Red Templars. I have sent reparations for the families along with this 'messenger’ Ritts; it’s the least I can do for the Inquisition and the people brave enough to stand up against this deluded magister._

_The Crown has started, and contributed to, a charitable fund for a memorial in commemoration of the valiant conduct exhibited by both the deceased and those who survived. Unfortunately, I will not be able to attend the opening ceremony once it is finished, as the captain of my honour guard is greatly concerned over matters of security. ~~Not as though I can’t use a sword, or haven’t faced a dragon before.~~ Therefore, I pre-emptively give my ardent blessing for the event, and humbly apologise for my absence._

_If there is anything further the Inquisition requires for its transition to Skyhold, do not hesitate to have your ambassador contact me._

_His Majesty,_

_King Alistair Theirin_

_P.S. I think that is enough of the Kingly stuff out of the way. The rest of this is a note for Fay, so anyone else reading- yes, I’m talking to you Leliana - just go on ahead with your own business. I mean it. You’re still here, aren’t you? Sneaky... something or other; I never was great at insults. I didn’t have to be, Morrigan had more than enough to spare, didn’t she? Anyway, off you slink, oh- and Ritts is a real asset to your team. Give her a promotion or something._

_Fay, I thank the Maker that you are safe. What were you thinking facing down Corypheus on your own?! As your friend, I forbid you from doing something so reckless again. In fact, did I not give you an order to look out for yourself too? Please, Fay, I don’t want to have another of Leliana’s agents turn up to Denerim castle with that bad news. Though, that is underplaying how devastated I would be, I mean, who else would I share cheese and wine with?_

_So, Inquisitor (I think it suits you better than Herald in any case), you have a castle all of your own now. Skyhold: The name has a very regal ring to it. I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours. I just hope it’s not bigger, that would be weird. Alright, I’ll stop with the awful puns. Admit it though, you’ve missed me. What is that I hear- more than a little? I’m flattered._

_Maybe once things quieten down I will be allowed to pay you a royal visit and see Skyhold for myself. I’ve never been too keen on all that the mountains have to offer: The cold, the slippery and uneven terrain, endless snow, and more shades of grey than I knew ever existed. But, for a good friend, I could make an exception._

_Take care, and write to me soon._

_Alistair_

“Good tidings?”

“Of a sort. A letter from a friend, that’s all.”

Varric eyed the paper, and specifically the king’s wax seal, and pretended to be none the wiser as to who it was from. “A friend. Uh-huh” he said, taking the open space at the table.

Fay liked this corner of the main hall just outside the entrance to the adjoining rotunda tower, and she could understand why Varric had claimed it as his regular stakeout spot. The nobles tended to keep their distance, and it provided a great view to the comings and goings  of the busiest areas of the castle. Her dwarven friend could indulge his nosey nature by eavesdropping on gossip and keep tabs on people’s movements throughout the day.

“You can read it yourself if you want” Fay said with an indignant laugh. “All the sordid details you could put into your next novel are right here. Just think of it: A platonic relationship, well-wishing after the attack on Haven, mention of a memorial fund... Such scandal!”

“I’d be more interested in why you and Curly are suddenly giving each other a wide berth. You’ve only spoken to him in passing, or to sign off reports and orders, since you got back from The Storm Coast.”

Fay folded the letter and tucked it into her jacket pocket, giving him a stern lift of her eyebrow.

“That’s private. Let’s just say there’s a change of plans and leave it at that for now. Besides, I believe you owe me an explanation as to your own peculiar motives of late. Don’t think I forgot how you reacted when hearing Corypheus’ name, or how you were too busy tying up loose ends with your ‘publishers’ to join our little outing to the place that never seems to be dry.”

“All will become clear, I promise. Very soon. I’m not working against you, Mouse. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know. I trust you, Varric.”

“Do you need me to give Curly any shit? Did he do something to you?”

“What? No! Cullen didn’t- we just, well it’s beyond complicated.”

Varric held his hands up in surrender. “With you, when are things never?”

“Pfft. If that wasn’t true I’m sure my feelings would be reeling from such a terrible defamation of my character.”

“At least your humour has returned. You looked pretty down when you were trotting off out of Skyhold a few weeks ago.”

“Scout Harding does always say that sea air is good for the soul. But, more than that, we’ve sealed a good number of rifts left over by the breach and been productive in giving help to the people that need us. We even picked up another strange band of mercenaries called The Blades of Hessarian. Blackwall fought their leader in a duel of honour after we found out they’d killed some Inquisition scouts under his instruction, the bastard.”

Fay was actually proud of what they had achieved in their last excursion. Though it had been sad to learn of more mindless killings, Blackwall, Solas, Sera and herself had exacted revenge and gained a group that would repair and safeguard the port situated across the shore from the Free Marches. It would ensure an increase of food and materials not only to forward camps established by the Inquisition, but to the locals along the trade-route through Ferelden all the way to Skyhold. Another win for the ‘little people’.

Sera was very happy anyway, even going so far as promising not to make Solas the butt of any of her pranks for a while. Where Sera had even found lizards, Fay honestly didn't know, but Solas didn't appreciate finding them in his bedroll in a stunt echoing the one she had pulled on Vivienne. The stream of elvish from Solas, that Fay could only guess were less than savoury words, had been funny in hindsight. Especially after all of their bickering, which seemed to be as constant as the rain. She would not be taking Solas and Sera anywhere together again, not if she could help it.

“Not another bunch with Qunari muscle?” Varric asked.

“Haha, no. It may be the second mercenary group congregating there that we’ve taken on, but this one is Qunari free. Probably for the best, I think one Iron Bull is enough for us to handle. That reminds me, I have a favour to ask of him and Krem.”

Josephine had requested that she ask Iron Bull to take his Chargers back to escort any dawdlers still making the journey to Skyhold from Haven. There was still a vain optimism that some of those still counted as missing, and presumed dead, had managed to make it down the mountain to neighbouring villages or outposts. Fay didn’t want to rule it out as a possibility, but the odds were low and she wasn’t going to hold her breath.

“There’s a round or two of Wicked Grace on in the Herald’s Rest tonight. You should come, and you can ask Tiny then.”

“I’d like that. It’d be nice to catch up with everyone. Dorian has been pouting that I left him behind, not that he would have wanted to traipse about in the wet, so a night out will banish his sulking. Plus, you and I haven’t had a good chat, or a hand of cards for that matter, since before Haven.”

“I’ll even buy you a drink.”

“In that case, it’s settled.”

Varric nodded and leant towards her across the table. “I’m expecting a few new arrivals. Just don’t breathe a word to the Seeker” he said.

“Err, okay. However, lest you forget, Leliana was the Left Hand of the Divine and a bard. She will find out about whoever you’re hiding from Cassandra, if she doesn’t know already.”

“I’m just hoping to keep my head on my shoulders until morning.”

“She’d have to swing quite low...”

“Pah, no sympathy I see. I’m doing this for you too, Mouse. Though, I cant say that I won’t be glad to see them again, it’s been too long.”

Fay wracked her brain as to who exactly Varric could be referring to, but came up blank. Family? She knew his brother Bartrand was incarcerated, though as for the whereabouts of any others of the Tethras household Fay didn’t have a clue. But if it was members of his family, what on Thedas had they done to warrant being kept from Cassandra’s notice? Maybe they just had a knack for pissing the Seeker off.

“Don’t try to work it out, you’ll bust something judging by the way you’re screwing your face up.” Varric chuckled, “Just turn up tonight, and you’ll see why I’m worried.”

“Fine. Mum’s the word.”

Her stomach let out a grumble and Fay opted to leave Varric in search of a snack from the kitchens. If they were supposed to be playing at being discreet, both of them sitting there looking shifty would only draw unwanted attention from Cassandra or Leliana anyway. She made her way through the corridors, glad that they had been emptied of debris whilst in The Storm Coast. With the scaffolding in place it looked as though the major structural repairs were underway too, Josephine had sure pulled some strings in short order.

“The cook was angry earlier, but I can make her smile. She has some sweet buns left over.”

“Cole! How are you doing?”

“I’m not doing, I’m helping. You remember me?”

“Of course I do. Am I not supposed to?”

“Most don’t. But you are different. Very different. My hat isn’t that wide.”

Fay had been distracted with the thought of how the spirit boy could fit through the narrow passageway behind her, and blew out a self-conscious laugh at hearing him voice aloud her inane musings. Solas had told her of what Cole was, and she found it fascinating. Some people on Earth of course believed in their existence, of ghostly apparitions of those returned from beyond the grave, but there had never been any undeniable proof.

“Why would I want to prove that I am here?”

“It doesn’t matter, Cole. Things are disparate where I come from.”

“The other place, from through the veil and past the fade. Don’t worry, I won’t tell of what you and Solas have been practicing; why you left the Seeker here. I know you don’t want to hurt them, or him- the Commander. Lost, love slipping through your fingers, reaching, never forgotten. They would be afraid, though I don’t know why. You are still you.”

Sweet buns sounded like a good substitute for ice-cream, or any of the other comfort foods she missed. “Come on then, Cole. To the kitchens.”


	41. Chapter 41

Fay watched Varric clasp the dark-haired man’s arm, and squeeze him around the waist in a greeting hug.

“Garrett! You made it past the Seeker then. So-far, so-good.”

Garrett? The only Garrett that Fay had heard of in association with Varric was... oh. No, it couldn’t be.

“Yep, all clear. Fenris would have got us through anyway. Can you imagine anyone telling Broody no?”

The elf, who Fay thought was even taller than Solas, glared at Hawke. “Back with the dwarf for one minute, and you’re calling me by that stupid nickname again?” he rumbled.

“Ah, lighten up Fenris. Go grab us some drinks and agitate the regulars.”

Fenris muttered under his breath, though Fay was sure there was a crease of a smile at the corner of his eyes as he made his way to the bar. If Hawke was anything like Varric, then Fenris had to have some sort of sense of humour under that intimidating exterior. The stark white tattoos covering his body, that she could make out between the gaps of his black leather armour, were enthralling. He seemed to emit a low-key drone, the susurration of a river, yet he did not have a mage’s aura like Hawke or Dorian.

“Varric...” Fay said, “you are so fucking dead. You summoned Hawke and Fenris to Skyhold? Under Cassandra’s nose? I’ll have one of the men dig a nice six-foot-deep hole for you. Now that Hawke is here, he can give your eulogy.”

Dorian straightened his robes and gave Fay a sly nudge to the ribs.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mouse. She won’t be that mad, not with you standing in front of me for protection when she finds out.”

“Varric doesn’t do things by halves, do you think it’s his way of compensating for his height?” Dorian asked her, making out that he couldn’t see the headshake that Varric gave him.

“I didn’t suss out who you were hinting about, but _The Champion of Kirkwall_?”

“Please, just Hawke. Or Garrett if you really have to, not that it makes a difference to Varric. You’ve probably noticed that he calls people anything he damn well pleases anyway.” Hawke held out his hand, turning hers over when she gave it to him so that he could place a kiss above her knuckles. “You never wrote that she was so feisty, Varric” he said, giving Fay an appreciating smile that for some reason caused her to blush. “It’s good to know that someone puts you in your place when I’m not around to do it.”

“Fay” she introduced herself, “though it seems you already know that. I shudder to think what Varric has told you about me. This gentleman, a few sheets to the wind and currently standing drooling at you, is Dorian.”

“Pssh, what’s not to like? Though I’m guessing sadly you’re a ladies only man, which is a shame. Dorian Pavus at your service.”

“Tevinter, huh? This should make the evening with Fenris interesting” Hawke said, gamely shaking Dorian’s hand and openly not showing himself to be phased by Dorian’s flirting comment.

“I think Dorian’s heard it all before. But, what I will say is that he is my friend, a good one, so I won’t allow any undue slurs directed at him. If he makes a tit of himself though, all bets are off”

“Oh, Fenris is mostly all bark and no bite. He won’t cause any trouble.”

“I just love Tevinter, magisters and mages” Fenris snarked, handing a pint mug to Hawke and nearly making Fay jump with his sudden re-appearance.

She gestured for them to sit, finding herself pinned in-between the two newcomers as Varric dealt them their cards. Hawke and Fenris cast sideways glances at the muted red and green of the anchor, so Fay held it up to them and patiently said: “No, I don’t know how I got it. It really can seal the tears to the fade, and yes, I did close the breach with it. I’ve got used to the sting and discomfort it causes, particularly now that I understand it a fraction better than I did. Oh, and I can clap without causing myself to implode. Does that cover most of it?”

“Implode?” Hawke questioned.

“You can ask Sera about that one” Fay said, sticking her tongue out at the elf as her head popped over the bannister at them.

“It was a lij-legert-ligitimy- good question” Sera stumbled over her words, crossing her eyes in concentration. “Magey shite and... ‘s’all good innit?”

“Go home, Sera” Fay said, laughing and pointing up to the elf's room on the top floor of the tavern. “You’re drunk.”

Sera blew a raspberry and disappeared, leaving Hawke looking more bewildered, and Fay laughing harder at his reaction.

“Right” he said, and took a long swig of his ale. “We heard of course what you did to Corypheus on our way here, and I have to say that I’m impressed. Pity he didn’t stay dead from the first time.”

“I- pardon?”

Hawke sighed. “You didn’t tell her?” he criticized Varric.

Fenris picked up his cards to study them, staying well out of their disagreement.

“I was waiting for you” the dwarf defended. “You know more of the relevant details. I could have fabricated some of the facts that I don’t know, sure. But when we’re all dead in a year’s time because an army led by Corypheus has taken over Thedas, then you tell me how it made you feel better not to have to come here yourself to give Fay what she needs to know in person.”  

“Why do I even- right. You’re right.” Hawke ran one hand along his rugged beard and turned towards Fay, so close that she could smell mint mingling with the beer on his breath. “Here it is then... We fought Corypheus before- me, Varric, Fenris and Anders. By the end of it he was definitely dead: Full of holes, fried, not breathing, the usual signs. He was being held in a prison, by the Grey Wardens, and somehow he wormed his way into the minds of some members of the Carta.”

“They were drinking darkspawn blood too, really creepy shit” Varric added.

“The seal holding him used blood. My father’s blood to be precise. So, these Carta dwarves were sent by Corypheus to find me and use my blood to release him. In reflection, I suppose they were holding him because they were having a hard time ending the ugly bastard. There has to be a way though, there’s always a way.”

“I hope you’re right, Hawke” Varric said, examining his cards with an unreadable expression.

Dwarves consuming darkspawn blood? Another link to Corypheus, blood magic, to the darkspawn and so to the blights. Fay was sure that she was overlooking something crucial, about how she fitted into all of this herself. Blood mage, red lyrium... there was something else, but what? Just as how the memory of what she had been doing moments before falling from the breach at the Temple of Sacred Ashes flitted away, the answer to this riddle would not make itself clear.

“Corypheus is my responsibility. I will help you bring him down, Fay. Once and for all” Hawke promised.

“I-I, thank you” Fay looked at him and puzzled over the way he had told her of his run-in with Corypheus. “That’s not why you’re here though, is it?”

“No” said Fenris, adding a silver to the growing pot of the hand of Wicked Grace she had become distracted from. “Varric actually wrote to me originally. Hawke and I have been keeping a low profile, killing slavers and other unscrupulous thugs, so he decided to tag along. You have an affliction that I can assist with.”

“Oh?”

“Lyrium. That's what these tattoos are” he said, quirking a small smile at her.

The flowing pattern of lines flared a luminous cobalt, and Fenris waved his whole arm through the table- through the cards fanned out on the surface, the piles of coin, the wood - as if it was nothing but an illusion.

“Holy shit.” Fay gaped at him, and found her back pressed against Hawke’s chest. “Sorry. Just... You have to show me how to do that!” she exclaimed, shifting away in embarrassment, and giving Dorian an unimpressed glower at the wink he threw her way.

“It may be possible. Varric gave some details as to your acquired abilities, but I shall need to see them demonstrated before I can ascertain how similar- or dissimilar- they are to my own.”

The tattoos returned to white, and Fenris’ arm became solid again.

“The lyrium allows you to do that? Step into the fade and out of it simultaneously?” Dorian asked with fascination.

“A gift from my master, to turn me into a weapon that would do his bidding” Fenris sneered in distaste.

“Fenris...”

“Yes, I know, Hawke. This Tevinter magsiter keeps his life.”

“Altus” Dorian corrected. “You southerners; I may be from the magisterium, but that doesn’t make me a magister.”

“Sparkler is one of the good ones, Broody.”

“We shall see. I fold.”

Varric gave a cheer, showing his hand with a victorious flourish, and swept across his winnings to start stacking the silver and copper bits in front of him.

“You two playing?” he asked, tapping his fingers on the piles of coin.

“Varric, you know I’m terrible at Wicked Grace” Fay said.

“He knows I’m hopeless at it too, he just likes taking my money. We could share our hand, if you like?”

“What, and help you lose faster?”

Hawke shrugged. “Works for me.”

“Alright. The Inquisitor and The Champion of Kirkwall getting their arses handed to them by a dwarf. He’ll put that in his next book, you know that, don’t you?”

“No, he won’t” Fenris said. “He doesn’t every put anything that _actually_ happened in any of his trashy tales.”

Dorian snorted with laughter, which had Fenris cracking a reciprocating grin despite any hang-ups that the elf had over anyone from Tevinter. The evening was going to be a good one, and their dysfunctional family was growing. Her family. It would be complete, if only Rebecca was here with her as well.


	42. Chapter 42

Fay had donned her usual armour, but walking into the practice ring with Hawke and Fenris had her feeling significantly exposed. The duo were nigh-on untouchable; they had faced everything: Mages, Templars, abominations, demons, bandits, beasts, a dragon, Qunari... but most of all they had made it through the destruction of an entire city- not just a small village, a _city._ She had bluffed her way through skirmishes, learning and training with every fight, and after Corypheus she had been a hair’s breadth away from dying. If Solas, Cole, and Cullen had not set out to find her, Fay knew that would have been the case.

“Have fun, boss” called Iron Bull, “Chargers! Horns up! We’re off!”

“Aren’t you horrible lot gone yet?”

“I was going to stay and see the show, but Krem insisted that we get marching.”

“Thanks, Krem, I owe you.”

“You’re welcome, your worship.”

Krem gave her a grin and a hand-on-heart salute, before jogging off to catch the back of the line leaving the gates of Skyhold.

“If Varric hadn’t told me about ‘Tiny’ before our arrival, I’m not quite sure how I would have reacted. He seems more pleasant than the Arishok at least... there aren’t more of him tucked away that I don’t know about?” Hawke asked.

“Nope, just him. Iron Bull is loud and chaotic on the battlefield, but he’s handy in a fight, and has never made me question his loyalty. Even if he is Ben-Hassrath.”

Fenris looked perplexed. “You blew his cover, and yet you let him stay?”

“He never had a cover, he told me as soon as I met him that he was a spy. Don’t worry, Leliana has final say over any reports he sends back; she scares me more than he does, and regardless of his years of training to not give anything away, I’d say that Bull is definitely afraid of her too.”

“Ah, the Nightingale. Rightly so. She cornered us earlier to give an official welcome to Skyhold and the Inquisition. I don’t think I’ve seen Fenris turn that pale before.”

“Did she just pop out of nowhere?” Fay asked, sniggering at Fenris’ disgruntlement, and the way that he scuffed at the dirt beneath his feet. “She does that, a lot. Leliana can even take Solas by surprise, and his hearing is pin-sharp.”

Fenris had chosen a wooden longsword in place of his greatsword, which Fay was grateful for as soon as the session began. The elf was hard to track, his movements graceful and not one swing or step was without purpose. With the relium supporting her strength and stamina, Fay managed to block his blows for a lot longer than she thought she was capable of. But he didn’t give her the opportunity to switch to an offensive, and his sharp gaze took in every small detail about the way she parried or countered.

After a while she was aware of someone watching them from the battlements, though was too focused on keeping her footing to look up to see who it was. Cullen, Fay thought with a sigh, likely drawn by the red lyrium’s energy she was using. Fenris chose that moment to phase behind her, and as she twisted with her shield to try and anticipate the coming attack, she looked down at the wooden tip poking firmly into her chest.

“Do you yield?”

“Fuck, yes” she told him.

Fay dropped to her knees, feeling woozy, and dug the head of her mace into the ground so that she could use it to prop herself up.

“There is no shame in admitting defeat. You did well” Fenris said, extending his hand to pull her back onto her feet.

“The red lyrium gives the same properties in regenerating your endurance, your fortitude, as for Fenris. However, you do not access the fade and I would almost suggest that it forces it away in order to centre power from inside you.”

Hawke pushed off from the fence and walked over to join them at the middle of the ring.

“Meaning I can’t do his neat trick?” Fay asked with disappointment.

“Sadly not. But, I saw that you formed it into a shield over your skin like a barrier a few times. Can you deflect magic as well as physical hits with it?”

“I can. Physical is easier, and I'm still not able to adapt it to cope with both at the same time."

“There is a root resemblance to the way the two variants of lyrium work, for non-specialized abilities. I can offer my assistance with that” Fenris said.

“And I can throw fireballs at you, it’ll be fun!” Hawke unclipped his staff, giving a cocky wave to Cullen who was patently still observing them. “Does he still have a stick up his posterior? I wonder.”

Fay crossed her arms. “Cullen? Whatever you’re thinking of doing, Hawke, please don’t involve him with it.”

“No ‘accidental’ stray magic then. Fine, Fenris just say when you want me to start.”

The rest of the morning was spent refining the relium shielding. Fay was finally getting used to the sensation and will required to shape it effectively as they decided to break for lunch. Though she had jumped to Cullen’s defence, and been slightly annoyed on his behalf, Fay had quickly realised that the mage did not know of Cullen’s withdrawal- how could he? - and Hawke’s charm had her back to laughing and joking throughout their training. He was a smooth talker, and it left no doubt as to why he and Varric got on so well.

A shadow fell over Fay as she basked in the walled garden with her eyes closed, the winter sun at its hottest and brightest before descending for the early evening. Rebecca’s journal, now steadily filling with drawings and stories, was still open on her lap, and she had just recounted the loss of Haven loosely based on a revised version of 'The Three Little Pigs' for her daughter.

_Once upon a time, there was a fox, a bear, a lion, a golden hen, and a mouse. They came to each other on the mountainside, cold and hungry, having lost their homes to a mighty storm. Deciding to put aside their differences, the animals made a pact to help each other survive the wilds and rebuild what they had lost._

_The fox was cunning and smart. She knew the lay of the land enough to show them where they could find food and water, and also where the other animals left helpless after the storm were hiding. If they shared their shelter with them, she told the bear, lion, hen and mouse, then these animals would also help. They agreed, and soon their number grew._

_The bear was strong and hardworking. She did not rest until their new enclosure was finished, and each sturdy wooden pole holding their fence secured. No animal was turned away from their gates, and she made sure to treat every animal fairly._

_The lion was brave and just. He prowled around the walls, keeping the animals safe from any predators beyond. His roar was terrifying, his teeth and claws sharp, and he protected what they had worked so hard to build from being taken away._

_The golden hen was generous and compassionate. Her pleasant clucking stopped the animals from feeling afraid, and her golden eggs were used to pay for things that made their lives happy and comfortable. She made sure that their large family would know hope and charity._

_The mouse? Well, the mouse was small and timid. She tried her best, but she was unsure how to really help. So she gave her time to them all, listening and talking about their dreams, determined that one day she would be as smart, strong, brave, and compassionate as the rest._

_Little did the animals know, but the storm was caused by a big, bad dragon. He had torn open the sky to escape from his crumbling roost high up in the clouds, the place he had been banished to by the animals for being so cruel. The dragon was jealous of the home that they had come to call Haven, and he did not want them to sing, dance, or play._

_So, the big, bad dragon swooped down above their little village, and the animals knew that their walls would be no good against him. As the animals retreated to their wooden shelters, they shivered at hearing him call out:_

_“Little animals, little animals, you will make a good meal! Will you not let me in?”_

_With a mean laugh, he ripped the roofs from their houses, and battered down their fences. The animals fled from the ruins, but the mouse... well, the mouse stayed behind. She had felt the way the snow had shifted, and though she was scared of being eaten, she had a plan to keep her friends safe._

_“Dragon! Over here! I will be a morsel for your rotten stomach, if you can catch me first!” the mouse shouted, and lured the greedy dragon to where she needed him to be._

_The mouse was fast, and she wove through the splinters without the dragon managing to grip her in his talons. Soon he hovered close to the mountain top, where a large drift of snow waited above their heads, and the mouse stopped to face him._

_“You are no match for the mighty storm” she said to the big, bad dragon. “Show me why I should be scared of a coward like you.”_

_With a beat of his huge wings, the dragon sent a gale of wind rushing towards the mouse in anger, which shook the snow free as she had intended. The mouse darted into a small, narrow burrow as the avalanche fell to crush the big, bad dragon beneath it. But the dragon survived, flying away to lick his wounds, and the mouse knew that the animals would need to continue working together to find yet another home._

_When the mouse caught up with them, the animals came across a great castle made of stone. A place that could not be blown apart or flattened, a place they finally felt safe. Here they could start anew, and wait for the day when they would face the big, bad dragon again and banish him back to the sky. As for the mouse? Well, the mouse was with them, of course, offering her help where she could._

“This is your work?”

Fay looked up at Hawke and nodded. “Erm, yeah. I keep a journal, for my daughter.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you had a daughter. Is she-”

“Here? No. She is... far away.”

“I’m sorry. You must miss her greatly. Is she with your- uh- husband? I’m sorry, it isn’t any of my business.”

“It’s alright.” Fay handed the book to Hawke to look at, and he laughed at Cullen’s picture of the mabari on the first page.

“This isn’t your style I see” he said, and flipped through the rest of what she had done. “These are really good. Mouse, is it? Hah! And Cassandra is the bear, that figures.”

Fay’s face reddened. “Mouse is an unfortunate nickname, and no I won’t be showing Cassandra that story.”

“Don’t know why not, it’s flattering.”

“Being caricatured as a bear?”

“A strong and hard-working bear.”

“Not sure she’d pick up on that detail.”

Hawke closed the journal, reading the embossed title. “Rebecca, your daughter I assume?”

“Yes. She’s six now, I- I missed her birthday this year. Andrew, my ex and her father, is looking after her while I’m here.”

“Your accent, I can’t place it; not quite Ferelden or Free Marches.”

“What can I say, I’m a mystery.”

“So you are. Well, I was actually looking for you and I found you, which in this place is an achievement. The fortress is a maze, all sorts of passages and corridors... worse than Kirkwall. Anyway, Inquisition business I’m afraid, though it is to do with Corypheus so I figured you’d want to know first.”

Fay took back the journal and shuffled over on the bench in invitation for Hawke to sit.

“What is it?”

“I have a friend, in the Grey Wardens. His name is Stroud; a serious fellow, with an even more serious moustache. He was looking into something about Wardens disappearing, and though that wouldn’t have stuck out at me as odd, a messenger just delivered a note from him to say that he’s uncovered something in relation to Corypheus and red lyrium.”

“As in, the Templars using red lyrium under Corypheus’ influence, sort of relation?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but I know Stroud. The fact that he managed to get word to me here using a series of, ahem, secret drops and trusted sources between us, means that it’s something dire. He’s sort of on the run, you see.”

“From the Wardens?”

“They don’t like people sniffing around their mess, not even one of their own.”

“That- that doesn’t sound good. Do you know where he is?”

“Crestwood. If it's all the same to you, I would like to come along if you decide to follow up on this.”

“Of course. I don’t think we should wait and run the risk of him being captured.”

“Or worse... but Stroud is wily.”

“They’d kill one of their own?”

“He’s considered a traitor to their Order. So, yes, they wouldn’t think twice in running him through, if they find him. Oh, and Fay, if you’re planning on taking Varric, you may want to go to the armoury. Pretty sure I heard raised voices, and one of them was a grumpy bear.”

“Shit.”

“My sentiments exactly. Do you want back-up?”

“If you want Varric alive, yes. I’ve faced a few bears, but the ones in the Hinterlands have nothing on the aggression levels of a severely hacked-off Seeker.”

“You have a point. Come on then, let’s go save the dwarf. Ah, this is turning out just like old times.”


	43. Chapter 43

“You, me, chess, now.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Commander. You have a face like a bronco stung by a wasp, and it simply won’t do.”

“Dorian, I don’t have time-”

“Make time. I’m not going to go away until you join me for fresh air, and flexing of some mental muscles.”

Cullen glared at the Tevinter mage, giving him the look he normally reserved just for Jim: That dim-witted messenger Leliana thought it was oh-so hilarious to lumber him with. The day he only had to give instructions to that boy once and have him follow them- to the letter and without mistakes - would be the one Cullen would have a heart attack and keel over from shock. Was it just part of Dorian’s personality- an absolute lack of courtesy? Barging into his office, making demands of all things, without a second thought to propriety or respect. Though a game of chess did appeal, there weren’t many at Skyhold who could actually play. Fresh air would probably soothe his headache a little too.

“Fine, but don’t think that you can make a habit of strutting in here and...”

Dorian’s laughter was as abrupt and brash as the man himself. He started crossing the causeway to Skyhold’s keep, calling out over his shoulder: “Are you coming, or am I going to have to drag you? I will you know, and it won’t be a pretty sight.”

Was he- was the man swaying his hips at him? Maker, preserve him. Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, before deciding that he had no choice left but to follow. Not if he didn't want the mage to make a scene, he seemed that sort.

“See, that wasn’t so hard.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

Cullen gave Solas an amicable nod as they cut through the rotunda. The elf had sectioned off another part of the plaster wall and was poised, brush in hand, in the middle of painting a second mural. Cullen wasn’t sure what it was supposed to depict exactly, elven art was lost on him with all of its abstract lines and patterns.

“This is about chess, Commander. What else would this be about?” Dorian asked.

His tone was not convincing, but Cullen was not prepared to pursue it further in front of Solas or a hall full of earwigging nobles.

“Of course. No ulterior motive at all” he grumbled.

Cullen’s hands went clammy inside his gloves and his heart began to thud: had Fay told him? _What_ had she told him? She isn’t like that, Rutherford. You have a guilty conscience, still, and miss being able to talk to her without wanting to... you know all too well what you want to do. He was a sick and crippled soul. Rumours were already abound, though by some miracle no-one had heard their goings on, and some of the residents of Skyhold had concocted theories about their latest aloofness. " _A lovers' spat?"_ \- he had heard the whispers. It was preferable to the truth.

“Here we are.”

The gazebo was deserted, suspiciously so, and Cullen watched as Dorian plucked the pieces out from the box he had been carrying under his arm and set them into position. Cullen slumped into his chair and drummed his fingers.

“Are you being agonizingly slow on purpose?” he asked.

“Tut, tut, Commander. Patience.”

“I’m losing what little I had to begin with.”

“Why don’t you elaborate on that. Is your lack of patience, for example, a contributory factor in a dear friend of ours now avoiding you?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with you” he said coolly, and got up to leave.

“Going already? Does this mean I win?”

“Are you two playing nice?”

Dorian’s pompous grin dared Cullen to contradict him. “I’m always nice.”

“Dorian Pavus” Fay said, her hands on her hips. “Don’t make me use my motherly tone with you.”

“Perish the thought. I just offered the Commander a game of chess.”

“And...?”

“And may have enquired if he had committed any wrongdoings that I should possibly know about.”

“So, you coerced him to be here and then threatened him.”

“That’s about the size of it” Cullen grouched.

“For you, darling, anything.”

“Dorian, this isn’t- ugh. You’re lucky I love you like a brother, or I might have been tempted to set Fenris after you. Look, Cullen and I are friends, but anything else that is, or isn’t, between us... it’s not for anyone to poke their nose into. Including you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Spoilsport. In that case, I shall return to my research and leave you two lovebirds to whatever you are, or are not, going to do.”

“Dorian!”

“Don’t forget about your brother whilst off gallivanting in Crestwood. With Hawke.”

Dorian sniffed, and Fay wagged her finger at him. “If you sass me again young man, I’ll take you with us. I’m sure your hair and robes won’t mind the inclement weather I’m informed is frequent to the area.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Cullen gave Dorian a self-satisfied wave as he rushed away.

“I’m sorry” Fay said.

“He’s just looking out for you, I understand. Doesn’t mean that I like his methods, but...” Cullen shrugged. “I don’t suppose you’d - never mind.”

“Don’t suppose I’d what?”

“Fancy joining me for the game that Dorian was meant to play?”

She frowned, chewing at her lip. It was a silly idea, of course she wouldn’t, he thought.

“I don’t see the harm, except to my pride” Fay said.

“Oh. Ah, alright then.”

“You were expecting me to say no. If you were just being polite-”

“Not at all. I would like to, well, we haven’t spent a lot of time together since... of course. You know what, I’ll just shush.”

Fay laughed, taking Dorian’s place. “I think we’re safe in public” she said, casting a glance around the few people milling around in the garden. “Just tell me, honestly, if you want me to leave and I won’t be offended.”

Cullen looked down at the board, unsure of what to say to her. Fay sensed his nervousness, and started to regale him with her recent exploits with Hawke, Fenris, and Varric around the fortress. He knew most of it already, Cassandra had been spitting feathers when he saw her, but it was nice just to hear Fay's voice and feel relaxed in her company. Like they could before. The itch of the red lyrium did not seem as acute; made bearable because of the amount expended in the training she had been doing for the past few mornings. A bandage of a solution to his issue, but he would enjoy it for as long as it lasted.

“...well, I’m as rubbish at this as I seem to remember.”

“Where did you learn to play?”

“My dad taught me, or tried. He wasn’t that successful as you can see” Fay said, giving a groan as he took another of her pieces from the board. “What about you?”

“My older sister, Mia. She would get this irritating, smug look on her face every time she won, which was _all_ the time. I practiced with my brother for ages, it was very satisfying when I finally managed to beat her.”

“I didn’t know you had siblings.”

“I’m the second eldest of four. I have a brother and two sisters. Did you- do you have any?”

“Nope. I’m an only child, which probably says something about me; I was a bit of a handful, according to my mother. I- uhm, my teenage years were not that great, so it was probably a good thing to not have any others go through all of that too. My mother was unwell. I don’t know if Thedas recognises anything like manic depression, but she tried to kill herself several times by overdosing on medication.”

“I- I don’t know what to say, I’m sorry.”

Fay waved his concern away. “It was twenty years ago. With the conflict in Ferelden, are your family safe? Where are they now?”

“They’re at South Reach, west of the Brecilian Forest. I don’t write to them as much as I should do, though Mia always seems to have a way of finding me.”

“Finding you?”

“I neglected to tell her that I moved from Kirkwall to Haven.”

Cullen felt a twinge of shame. His family had always supported him, and it sounded as though Fay had not been as blessed.

“I will send her a letter” he promised.

“Good. Huh, surprise, surprise. Looks like you win this one.”

“It was a close game-”

“Cullen, you’re an awful liar.”

“I, yes, I am” he admitted with a chuckle.

Fay looked at him, a glimmer of adoration in the azure pools that always dazzled him. “I like it when you smile” she said.

Her skin, ivory silk. Roses, the smell of spring flowers in bloom. Her irresistible warmth, lips parting in a breathy moan, exalting his name.

Cullen coughed, trying to cover the gruffness of his voice. “Fay.”

“You need me to go?”

“Maker’s breath, I’m sorry.”

“Cullen... I-I’ll see you later?”

He nodded, battening down his envy at seeing Hawke catch up with Fay as she pushed open the door to the hall. The mage tucked her in against his chest, leaning close to her ear and saying something that had them bubbling with a conspiratorial glee. Packing away the chess pieces, Cullen sat massaging the back of his neck. He didn't relish the idea of facing Dorian to return them. It could wait until tomorrow, he decided, there was a heap of paperwork on his desk that wasn’t going anywhere.


	44. Chapter 44

Crestwood would have been a quaint part of the Ferelden countryside if it wasn’t for the excessive, dreary drizzle, periodic blasts of wind numbing their extremities, the flooding, and the ambling undead. Fay had seen enough horror movies back on Earth to know that anything involving walking corpses was going to be a squishy, stomach rolling, and unpleasant experience. But the reality of it was far, far more repulsive. The moist sound of weapons slicing into rotting flesh, and the stink of fermenting meat lingering on their clothes sent Fay into a perpetual state of emetic repugnance. That was Thedas all over: Finding new and ingenious ways of making it difficult for Fay to fall asleep at night.

They had cleared out the opportunist vultures entrenched at Caer Bronach, bandits led by an Avaar warrior who had been sending strike teams of men to ransack the outlying farms, and found the dam controls to drain the lake. Once they secured the hillside fortress, Fay sent word for the bulk of the soldiers at the Inquisition camp to bring their gear for a more permanent occupation come first light. Fenris had made it there and back with impressive speed, though places always seemed further away when progress was hampered by enemies lurking behind every rock. They probably hadn’t made more than a mile or two from Crestwood village, and Harding’s map for this area wasn’t that accurate for her to be able to tell otherwise.

“Stroud will be alright for one more night before moving on” Hawke said as he put the finishing touch to a ward over the hatch leading down to the lower entrance.

Technically that way in - through the cellars or were they just random tunnels? - was now doubly guarded. Fay had been overruled, with the rest of the group deciding it would be better to let the venom spitting spider that had made its home underneath the place stay… for the time being. Extra insurance against infiltrators trying to take the place back was apparently preferable to having the cow-sized, eight-legged freak ‘die in a fire’.

“Those Wardens that we ran across earlier were searching for him…”

Hawke leant his staff against the wall and rubbed his hands together, giving a nod to Fenris and Varric as they passed by the storage room. They were taking up the first shift as lookouts and the rest of them were to loot, organise their provisions, and grab some rest until it was their turn. Deciding that a solitary watch was too risky, they had drawn up pairs to partner one ranged member with a close combat fighter: Fenris and Varric, Blackwall and Solas, and Hawke with Fay.

“And they hadn’t found him- they won’t. Not before we do.”

“You’re always so confident, Hawke.”

“Of course! It’s what I do best.”

“I’m going to go and rummage in the tower Varric unlocked, see if there’s anything interesting. I don’t think there will be, but always worth a shufty.”

“A what? Sh-oof-ty?”

“Shufty. A look, a peep… just- you know what, it doesn’t matter. Uh, see you in a bit.”

Fay left Hawke to make sure that the spider, ‘The General’ as she had named it to Varric’s great amusement, was not going to pay them an unexpected visit in the middle of the night. She didn’t think there would be anything noteworthy to find in the tower, but it was a good excuse to having some space alone for a while.

The veil was thin here, more than any place they had travelled to aside from future Redcliffe, and the anchor had begun charging itself again so frequently that she could tell Hawke and Fenris were uncomfortable about it. As was she. Solas was adamant that her control and willpower had improved, but the only time she had witnessed its full power was when there had been no-one else around that could potentially get caught up in the aftermath.

“My body, my rules. I can do this.”

It had become a mantra, her relium talents channelled by her body through an emotional bond as well as her mental focus. Solas had helped Fay recognise that, teaching her the tools to see and feel magic in alternative ways. Fenris had given valuable help too with exercises, meditation, and a more corporeal perception, employed by the non-mage who had come to wield his fade bending and stepping skills as easily and effectively as his greatsword.

Perched on the desk with her back to the door, Fay began sorting through a box of scrolls and yellowed papers. A few drawings of the wyverns Harding had warned about in a cave to the north, some livestock records and crop rotation information, lists of genealogies, and accounts of setbacks through the ages from illnesses, to the dragon roaming the Black Fens.

As she flicked through the pages, Fay found herself humming, and eventually singing aloud. Her taste in music had always been diverse, and she often felt nostalgic over the loss of her numerous playlists and vast CD collection. Music was a therapy, as much as drawing and writing was to her. She had too many albums and artists to count in digital format, but just as there had been a tactile satisfaction to holding and sniffing a newly printed paperback, Fay had been a stickler for owning physical discs too. All gone. When would she no longer be able to recall the words to the songs from home... her old home? A few years- or would they always be there?

_I'm so tired of being here,_

_Suppressed by all my childish fears._

_And if you have to leave, I wish that you would just leave._

_'Cause your presence still lingers here,_

_And it won't leave me alone._

_These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real._

_There's just too much that time cannot erase._

_When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears._

_When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears._

_And I held your hand through all of these years,_

_But you still have all of me._

_You used to captivate me by your resonating light,_

_Now, I'm bound by the life you left behind._

_Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams,_

_Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me._

The Head and Tail of a coin: Andrew and Cullen. Her flip had seen the coin land on its edge, casting for neither the obverse or reverse, and she had lost them both... to what? Bad luck? Predetermination? After fifteen years of marriage, to have it ended the way it did, she didn’t know what to long for in the proceeding tribulations. There was just the small matter of Corypheus, the Venatori and Red Templars out to kill her, and a fugitive Grey Warden to find first. Just another Monday at the office, and Fay had always detested Mondays.

“Maybe one day someone will feel enough for me to sing with the same passion, even if it’s a song of sorrow like that one. Can’t help feeling that you’ve been holding out on us, all those long nights around the campfire.”

“Hawke! I… shit. Well, this is embarrassing.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have intruded.”

“It’s alright.” Fay twiddled her hair between her fingers and felt a rush of heat to her cheeks. “I’d prefer maybe that you didn’t mention it again though. Like, ever.”

Hawke flashed her his smile, and leant with his weight on his staff. “We’re still getting to know each other, but if you ever want or need to talk… I promise that I can be sensible and personable, regardless of what the dwarf may tell you about me- or Broody for that matter. You’re a good person, Fay, and I know that what you’re doing isn’t easy. All of it. It’s downright frightening, and I’ve been there.”

“Thanks, Hawke. Apart from my eclectic group of companions, I don’t actually have any friends outside of the Inquisition. I-I would like for us to get to know each other better, there are just some things about me that I can’t-”

“Fay.” His blue eyes brightened. “I wouldn’t ever push you. People have secrets, some are revealed if and when required, and some are not. That’s life. Maker knows I have some of my own secrets that even Varric doesn’t know about me! My point is that I’m here, and I would never judge you.”

“That’s a rather strong conviction. I could have been responsible for the death of the Divine and the explosion at the Conclave for all you know. I could _really_ love Varric’s ‘Hard In Hightown’ series. You may not feel the same then.”

Hawke laughed. “The first one I could easily forgive. One of my closest friends did blow up the chantry after all. But the second… you’re right. I don’t think I could get over that one.”

Fay took Hawke’s offered hand and got off the desk, finding herself promptly pulled into a hug by the mage.

“The Champion of Kirkwall is a hugger, who would have guessed, huh?” she said, her voice muffled by the fennec fur lining the collar of his jacket.

He’d taken up Josephine’s offer to be kitted out in new armour before they left Skyhold, replacing the rather spikey mish-mash of metal, cloth and leather ensemble with a better tailored and warmer set. A good call, she would have lost an eye or broken a rib or two by now if he hadn’t.

“Is that such a bad thing? I don’t hear you complaining.”

“Not at all, Hawke, not at all. Varric and Dorian are the only others who consistently hug me.”

“Ah, but my hugs don’t compare to theirs.”

She smiled, inhaling the scent of mint and elfroot, and the soft fur brushing at her nose. “You’re as bad as Alistair! Though you’re right: Your hugs are the best."

“Hah! My ego survives another day. Now, for dinner, I shall tantalize you all with my ram steak.” Fay felt his aura spring to life before the flames wavered on his fingertips. “Cooked to perfection, with a little natural advantage” Hawke grinned.

“As long as it’s not mabari, bandit, or spider... How is ‘The General’ by the way?”

“Safely stowed away downstairs. He had other reservations, so regrettably he won’t be joining us.”

“Not even as a joke, Hawke” Fay warned. “Especially if Varric tries to put you up to it.”

“He already did.”

“Arse. I’ll get him back.”

They hurried to join Blackwall and Solas under the alcove on the upper courtyard out of the rain. In the morning they would find Stroud, and then close the rift that had opened under the lake. The dragon would have to be tackled on another visit; Iron Bull and the Chargers were insane enough to actually _want_ to face it, and be able to take it down. Leliana would also be interested to know about the fortress, and probably send some of her agents to use it as a forward station for northern Ferelden, and also to the paths heading west to Orlais.

Being made Inquisitor had not cut down the amount of planning and reporting expected of her in the field, though it was preferable to fighting. Squelchy undead were not making it into a story for Rebecca’s journal, that was for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: 'My Immortal' - Evanescence


	45. Chapter 45

The Inquisitor was a remarkable woman, and though it was apparent that she was withholding her past from him and Fenris, she spurred an interest possibly bordering on obsession that Hawke hadn’t felt for nearly a decade. Varric knew what was up, he always did, and kept giving a pointed twitch of his eyebrow and a grin at him every time Fay’s back was turned. The dwarf had said that she had been in a short-lived fling with Curly, but that was apparently over now. The stolen, pining looks the ex-Templar gave her around Skyhold were almost pitiable, and they didn’t smile or laugh much when they were together. Whatever there had been between them, Hawke was certain it was done. Or at least beyond any point of repair.

One man’s loss was another’s gain. Better than that, his gain… if he played his cards right. You’re all types of screwed then, Hawke, except the best kind. But it wouldn’t stop him trying, would it? Varric wasn’t spilling anything about Fay, bloody dwarf, and Hawke had a sneaking feeling that the Grey Warden- Blackwall - and some of the rest of her companions were also in the dark. If the storyteller wasn’t blabbing, it had to be for good reason, and if Fay had earned Varric’s loyalty, it didn’t speak badly of her intentions. If Hawke knew anything, it was that the dwarf was good at spotting unsavory characters and getting a read on the root core of a person’s motivations.

His friend had never been shy of vocalizing his displeasure at Hawke’s association with certain people through the years. Mainly Sebastian: The condescending prince who had got up into Hawke’s face in Kirkwall, and threatened war if he didn’t stab Anders in the back for the deed he had committed. Hawke didn’t condone, or even fully comprehend how Anders', or Justice’s, actions led to that day; things were tangled, complex. The prince though, he could go suck on Maferath’s dick. If he had any balls of his own, Sebastian would have put an arrow in Anders’ head himself before the mage could flee the city.

“You have a brother?”

Hawke stood, his back aching and bones protesting at having been stationary for so long. “Carver. He’s actually with the Grey Wardens now. His dreams of becoming a Templar were replaced with dreams of darkspawn.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Carver and I don’t hate each other, I don’t think, but he didn’t forgive me after Bethany or mother died. The fact that I’m a mage like father didn’t help. My sister and I were apostates, trying to keep out of the circles, and that of course pissed all over his pending career as a mage hunter. With Bethany dead, that hostility was directed at me.”

“That seems-”

“Extreme? You’re probably right, on both sides. I’m glad he’s safe, for the twenty or thirty years going through the joining gave him, but some bridges are always wobbly no matter how many ropes you fling across to secure it. If there’s no-one at the other end to tie those ropes off, you’re going to fall. Of course, when mother was killed, Carver’s resentment only festered- I failed to protect her, and now my darling brother is the only family I have left.”

Hawke chewed at a nail and scanned the hills, squinting towards where he thought something had been highlighted by the moonlight. Talking about his family was still upsetting. He and Carver would never see eye-to-eye, and that old saying about blood being thicker than water did not seem to apply to them. Mother would have been disappointed in them both, Bethany too.

“I shouldn’t have asked, I didn’t know, but…”

He looked down at Fay standing by his side, her mouth downcast and one hand timidly holding onto his forearm. Such a sincere care for his feelings was profound and unexpected, he’d played the joker for so long that most people dismissed any serious moments as temporary bumps that would smooth over without comfort or intervention. She wasn’t like that, there were no expectations from Fay to be Hawke ‘the pillar of the downtrodden’.

“It’s alright, Fay. I could have side-stepped that question if I wanted to.”

“Then, why didn’t you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Fenris says I’m a glutton for punishment.” The colours of the mark were eerily bright against his skin before his fingers closed around hers. “Fay, I- get down!”

“What?!”

There was no time for niceties as he shoved Fay away from him, his shoulder igniting with a hot pain seconds later. He grunted, crouching low to peer through the gaps of the low wall. The movement he had discounted as an animal out hunting, was now very obviously a group of Venatori heading for Caer Bronach. The jostling of his motions made the arrow bite into the flesh and muscle, making it hard to retain a grip around his staff. The head had broken through where the arm bone joined the collar, and Hawke wasn’t sure if it had come through the other side or hit the shoulder blade on the way out.

“This is what I get for thinking bad thoughts about Sebastian. Fucking archers.”

Fay had grabbed her shield and scrambled over to him on all fours, angling it above her head as she reached him and shouting an alarm to Solas, Blackwall, Varric, and Fenris down in the courtyard behind them. There were zipping pings of more arrows bouncing off the ground around them, and then silence.

“Hawke, we need to get down from here.”

Why was he feeling so tired? He couldn’t have lost that much blood. You’ve been shot before, it’s only a scratch. Get up.

“… Solas!... not responding… now, please!” Fay was yelling, but her voice was warped, and fading in and out.

A bitter taste in his mouth, lips numbing, and a draining weakness that was trickling his mana away could only mean one thing. The bastard had coated his arrow with magebane.

“Poison” he managed to mumble.

Hawke wanted to swat at his ears, and make the angry swarm of bees that had taken up residence there go away. Lyrium. A lyrium potion would help counteract the effects until it wore off. Fay was waving one such vial at him under his nose, though he wasn’t sure if he’d spoken out loud, or if she just guessed. The thunder-crack of wood splintering below and Fenris’ shouting meant the Venatori had made it through the barricaded front gate. There was a gratifying dim boom of one of his fire mines exploding, followed by an inhuman shriek.

“What can I do?”

Fay helped him to hold the vial and raise it to his mouth. Hawke wished he could give her an answer, but the toxin was running rife and muddling his thoughts. Their backsides were exposed and they needed to move, just nothing was co-operating as it should. The glass vial slipped, shattering on the stone when he was done. It was far from an important thing to focus on, but he couldn’t easily tear his gaze away from the pattern of glass catching the silvery light.

“Hawke-”

Fay was ripped away from him with a gasp, a Venatori rogue having somehow scaled the wall and dropping out of stealth to wrench her into a hold tight against his body. Her eyes wide, a blade pressed into her neck, Hawke felt his fury spike at the man daring to hurt her. Extreme defences, ones that did not rely on magic, began to kick into effect. Merrill had shown him how, and Fenris would shout at him later for it, but what choice was he left with? He couldn’t cast, and he couldn’t let these Tevinter cultists working for Corypheus take or kill the Fay. They couldn’t have her.

“Hawke” she winced as the metal pricked next to the raised scars on her throat, “I’m sorry.”

Hawke concentrated on the pulsing, pounding, the flow of blood. A thread, unravelling as he pulled at it with enough force. Not inside of him, but in the rogue dragging Fay to the steps where another of the Elder One’s servants was grinning at them with his curved, serrated daggers drawn. Hawke expanded the pressure, the crescendo building. He could see that Fay’s eyes were shut, the aura she attributed to her red lyrium infection thickening with a similar energy. But, he had to be mistaken, the magebane playing havoc with his system. Right now, it didn’t matter. Do it.

Using his staff like a walking stick, Hawke pushed himself to stand on shaking legs and swore at the lancing sting radiating from his shoulder and across his chest. Where in Thedas was Solas? He could really do with this fucking skewer being taken out. Either way, these pointy-hatted scourges were going to get the Tevinter special right at them.

“No choice… I don’t want to do this, let me go…”

Fay was crying, dropping to her knees as her captor released her. Had she been cut? Was she alright?

“Fay?”

He ignored the curdling screams as the men’s internal organs ruptured, sending blood hemorrhaging down their faces, pouring from their noses, ears, and mouths. This kind of attack sickened him, but the prospect of losing Fay… He’d had enough of letting down the people around him, those he gave a damn about and didn’t want to suffer. You’ve walked off hangovers after The Hanged Man’s special brew, so you can get through this without fainting, he told himself. It was almost convincing.

Wiping the hot sweat away at his neck, Hawke limped over to Fay and tried to coax her round. There was the sound of a weapon being pulled from its sheath as he turned his back, and his vision faltered.

“Where is she?!”

Hawke looked up at Solas and frowned. Had he closed his eyes and fallen asleep, or…? There were sounds of heavy fighting, voices calling out in the night and he knew them, from somewhere. Bodies lying in pools of blood, and a wooden shield discarded near his leg. Venatori. Her shield. Fay. The elven mage snapped the arrow shaft poking out of his shoulder and removed both halves. There was a breath of coolness over his skin, bringing relief. It was quickly followed by a clarity that infused Hawke with blind panic. They needed to go after them before it was too late.

“They’ve taken her! Solas, some of them got over the wall somehow and snuck up on us. I let my guard down, this is my fault and they’ve got Fay!”

Solas’ lips tightened and he cast a worried glance down at the courtyard where the others were still fending off some of the infiltrators. Varric’s voice called out: “To your left!” to either Fenris or Blackwall, and Hawke could make out the mechanical thunk of Bianca close by.

“I got hit with magebane, I couldn’t cast. I tried to stop them…” He realised he was babbling, but he didn’t care. “Solas, I don’t know where she is!”

“You…? Oh.”

Hawke didn’t know why the mage was confused as he glanced over at the rogues’ corpses, though the information that The Champion of Kirkwall could do some blood magic was well concealed for obvious reasons. Varric gave the population enough tales about their group to divert attentions to other exaggerated exploits and facts.

“The Venatori are retreating, likely because they have what they came for. We will rout them and find her. I added a small rejuvenation spell to the healing, but it is just a patch until there’s more time. Can you stand now? Can you fight?” Solas asked.

Rolling his shoulder, and no longer feeling the draining tick of the magebane on his mana, or clamping off his connection to the fade, Hawke was determined to go. “Yes, thank you, Solas. I would, erm, appreciate if this, about them…”

“I recognise blood magic when I see it, Hawke. I have no negative views regarding the use, and you did what you had to.”

“Didn’t fucking work though, did it.”

He risked a peek over the wall. The Venatori were indeed making a run for it, following Fay’s kidnappers back to their camp down towards the ravine. There would be caves down there, opportune places to set traps and hole up until… well, what did they want with her anyway? To turn her like Corypheus had the Red Templars? No, he couldn’t let them. He wouldn’t.

“We will get her back” the elf said, offering his arm out to steady him as they started down the steps.

“I don’t like these bastards getting one over on me. If they’ve hurt her-”

“Hawke, good of you to join the party” Fenris drawled, punching his arm through a Venatori spellcaster’s torso.

The man’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ as he toppled over backwards, already dead before cracking his head on the flagstones.

“Don’t, just don’t, Fenris. We’re going to hunt all these Venatori down, and make them suffer.”

“They have Fay?” Varric asked him.

Blackwall barged into one of the fleeing men, a snarl fixed on his face as he took the Venatori soldier’s feet from under him in front of the smashed gate. The Grey Warden swept his sword down with enough power to part the head from the body. Varric reloaded his crossbow, patting her for good luck, and Fenris pointed a spiked gauntlet after the scumbags in affirmation of their next move.

“Then we go hunting” Solas stated, a brittle tone of anger in his voice that Hawke had not heard from the collected elf before.

Corypheus’ minions would know pain before they died, there would be no mercy.


	46. Chapter 46

A black eye swollen shut, a split lip, and the leg previously broken aching once again from her fruitless attempts to wriggle away and escape after Hawke collapsed. They had dragged her from Caer Bronach, an armored brute handing her off to a few more rogues waiting in the shadows. She remembered the punch to her face, wrists tied together behind her back, and swaying side-to-side as she was limply carried off by two, maybe three, men. Where the ledge of a ridge came close to the battlement wall to the east, she was thrown over by her captors to drop down eight-foot or so, and land winded on her side. With some luck, she avoided injury from the fall or snapping her neck, but that also meant she was alive and in the Venatori’s hands. Fay wasn’t sure which she would have preferred.

The kidnap had clearly been planned, the news of her presence in Crestwood passed to them by the bandits. For what: Revenge? Promise of joining Corypheus’ ranks? Their group had only met bandits in the area up until the raid, one giant spider, and a few territorial druffalo. The spires of red lyrium to the north had prepared them for Red Templars on their push to meet Stroud, but not Venatori. They had underestimated the enemy, and it was on her head for leading them to Caer Bronach instead of rendezvousing with the Grey Warden first. This was why she shouldn’t be put in charge of decision making, or the Inquisition for that matter. But, if the Ventori were targeting her, would a delay have made any difference? There was not going to be a good outcome from this.

A Venatori in garish yellow robes made her drink an acidic tasting liquid, which had a purplish tint in the torch light. Tracing a blade along her jaw, and pricking the skin at her throat, he made it clear without the need for any words as to what he would do if she refused. Fay had no choice, and the effect was instant. Like being under the influence of a drug like ketamine, an anesthetic inhibiting sensation, it sent her into a state of semi-sedation. Any chance of using the blood magic abilities, as she had at Caer Bronach, were gone. Fay was… empty. She felt nothing, had no control or will over her physical body nor any of her abilities. Done; she was completely done for, and at their whim.

How long she was with the Venatori, hours or days, Fay couldn’t tell. There was no natural light in the caves to calculate the passing of time, and they did not feed her to be able to work it out from regular meal schedules either. The Venatori chattered excitedly, their gloating voices bouncing around the walls and into the chamber where she lay. Aside from a few curse words that Dorian had taught her, Fay could not work out what they were discussing. She did, however, pick out the mention of a name that would have made her bristle with fear, if she had been more alert: Samson. Corypheus’ corrupted general, and a disgraced Templar from Kirkwall when Cullen, Hawke, Fenris and Varric had been there.

Were her friends still alive? Hawke… he had been poisoned… Fay wanted to cry at the notion that she may never see any of them again. Useless. She was useless, and prisoner in a dying world. The tears would not come, so she closed her eyes.

“Na via lerno victoria.” The Venatori that drugged her had returned, crouching beside Fay with a ravening grin. “Incaensor” he spat, then added in broken common: “Samson breaks you soon, but I have fun if you stay whole.” The man laughed, producing his dagger and showing it to her. “Still, _Inquisitor_ ” he said.

Fay watched him cut open the buttons and straps of her leather jacket, trousers, and short sleeveless tunic underneath. She had come across female victims of attacks on her travels through Thedas, and Fay knew that rape still happened here as much as it did back on Earth. The civil wars had fractured policing, and the endorsement of laws across the whole country. Criminals took what they wanted, and even with the Inquisition trying to reestablish what was right, there was still a way to go in far-flung, and rural areas. She never considered it to be something she would ever have to go through. Why would she? The men of the Inquisition had chivalry, manners… they were _normal_ people.

The Venatori turned to comment to someone out in the tunnel, something derogatory in Tevene about her body, but it didn’t change his mind. Whoever he was speaking to replied, nonplussed, and shuffled away to leave his companion to his entertainment. Fay was thankful then for the purple drug, for not being able to feel how the Venatori straddling her was using her. His grunting, harsh foreign language made her want to scream, fight, get him away from her. She tried to block it out, disassociate from her violation, and mentally curled up inside to wait for it to end.

With some effort, she was finally able to tilt her head away a fraction, enough to stare into the pitch-black corner of the cave, and not at him. Fay pictured Rebecca’s face, her squeal of delight when she was tickled, the candy smell of strawberry shampoo… a happy memory to drown out the Venatori’s guttural moans. The man gripped the front of her windpipe with one hand, his eyes locking with hers as Fay’s attention was drawn back involuntarily to the rapist on top of her. He compressed her airway as he came, giving a shout of satisfaction, and a scathing: “Maleficar” as she choked. His breath reeked of sour milk and onions, and he patted her on the head like she was a pet, before tucking himself away again.

The humiliation of the Venatori’s assault was atrocious enough, but at some stage during her unconsciousness, Fay’s bladder had decided it was full. She woke to more insults being shouted as the man yanked her from the pool of urine soaking into her clothing, knife shredded and hanging open to reveal her shame, and moved her to the other side of the cave. He let go of Fay’s arms, letting them drop, inert, down to her sides again, kicking his sabaton into her ribs as he barked an aggressive string of Tevene. Her yellow robed captor stomped back out into the tunnels, his comrades’ mocking laughter haunting Fay’s dreams as she relived the attack on the fortress, and the Venatori’s abuse.

“Inquisition!”

Shouting, screaming, and the clanking of metal boots on stone breaking into a run. Fay came around with a start at the sudden burst of noise. The Venatori were on the move, fighting… against the Inquisition?

“In here! Chuckles, Andraste’s ass, what did they do?” Varric took off his favourite duster coat and covered her with it, the material barely reaching from her thighs to the top of her breastbone. “We’re… they won’t-” but the dwarf couldn’t finish.

She could see that he knew, and trying to comfort her by saying that the Venatori wouldn’t hurt her would just be a lie that he couldn’t bring himself to utter, not after what had blatantly been done.

“Varric, could use you to pin down this bugger down” Hawke shouted nearby.

Fay felt the urge to cry over again. He was alive, her friends had survived, and they had come for her.

“Da’len, you’re safe now.” Solas’ clothes were singed, and his face streaked with dust, blood and grime. He looked tired, angry, disgusted, and relieved to see her all at once. “The magebane they gave you would have been a pure, distilled concentration. It will take a while to wear off, and I will make sure you have no discomfort when it does” he said.

Fay knew what Solas really meant. The drug that ensured she was unable to put up any resistance had also stopped her registering pain from the bruising caused by the Venatori forcing himself on her. Without Solas’ healing, she would feel it all when the magebane faded.

“Please” she whispered, and it was the first thing she had been able to say since being taken captive.

The shouts petered out, and when she opened her eyes again to look past Solas sending a fog of his blue healing magic over her, Fay saw two bearded men, a coat-less dwarf and a white-haired elf standing guard. They were beaten up and dirty: Blackwall had a strip of torn rag wrapped tightly around his sword arm at the elbow, Hawke had a gash on his cheek and a hole in his armour where the rogue’s arrow had embedded, Varric was untouched but sweaty, and Fenris had a large amount of blood dried on his arms. She wanted to hug each one of them; they had not given up on her.

When Fay woke again, she found herself in a bed with proper blankets tucked around her. She had been washed, the fresh, green smell of elfroot and mint she associated to Solas, and Hawke, was lulling. There was no lingering stink of ammonia, or earthy mold from the caves, and true to Solas’ word she did not feel tender or sore. The room was one Fay had seen before, though a lot of Ferelden architecture was common from one building to another. Hawke was sitting on a chair at her side, holding her hand, and he smiled at the confused look she gave him.

“We’re back in Caer Bronach. Inquisition soldiers have cleaned the fort out and claimed it in your name. Curly is sending more troops for good measure, though they won’t make it here for a week. Varric bartered for supplies to tide us over, lining the villagers’ pockets with some decent coin in the meantime” Hawke explained.

“That won’t do them any good if I don’t close that rift.”

Her voice was croaky and low, but she was happy to have it back. To not be able to speak, to move… 

“True, but Harding has scouts defending the village at night. Solas and I marked up some warning signs and littered the surrounding land with elemental traps and mines. I don’t think the undead can read, at least I hope not.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Three days. Solas insisted on casting a sleeping spell on you to let the effect of the magebane dissipate.”

“What?! What about Stroud? The rift, the Venatori, bandits, the dragon, Red Templars… did I miss anyone or anything from the fucking list, apart from the _whole_ of Thedas? I can’t-”

Three days? There were too many people relying on the Inquisition, and on her as its leader. To be out for that long would have given Corypheus an extended lead in putting his plans for destroying Thedas into action. The magister didn’t have her, or the anchor, but he still had the Venatori and Red Templars gathering materials and intel: Red lyrium, artifacts with magical properties, weapons, texts and scrolls. What had he sent his men _here_ to do, and where was Samson now? The Venatori had sent for him to collect her for Corypheus, she was sure of it. Was he in Crestwood, right this second, with another army?

“Fay, please. Don’t upset yourself, it’s alright. We have it in hand, as much as we can. You needed to recover.”

Hawke was right. Solas did not act unwisely. Everyone in her inner circle knew the ticking clock they were up against, the future she and Dorian had seen in Redcliffe. To close the rift, Fay at the least had to be able to stand upright. But the news didn’t stop the questions whirling, or the angst from hitting her.

“How long… how long was I gone?”

Hawke bowed his head, focusing his gaze to where his thumb was stroking across the back of her knuckles.

“Two days” he said, finally looking up at her.

Sadness smoothed away the laughter lines around his eyes, the guilt and regret about her kidnap prematurely aging the champion by another few years. Fay noticed strands of grey in his beard, accentuated by the sunlight playing across his profile. The cut on his cheek was scabbed over, and there was a small bulge on the bridge of his nose where it had been broken in a fight years ago and had not been re-set correctly. The weight of everything Hawke encumbered himself with was wearing away at the man hunkered down beside her; a dogged scrapper, a man that refused to walk away from what he started.

“We tried to get to you sooner, but the Venatori were everywhere. It wasn’t just the group in the ravine caves, there were camps of them in the north and northeast sent down to harass and drive us away. Their fucking rogues ambushed us no matter which direction we took. I can’t express how sorry I am. This was my failure. Again.”

Fay shook her head. “Hawke, no. Please don’t.”

“Fay, what they did…” Hawke screwed up his other hand and punched at the bedpost. “Those bastards didn’t scream enough when we slaughtered them, not for my liking.”

“I still see him, hear him. But I couldn’t feel what he was doing… Vile doesn’t cover it, no. But life gives me shit, and I’m too stubborn, like you, to give up. And I can’t, not with Corypheus out there. He’s after me, and now he knows for certain that I survived after Haven. He wants to end your world, and for some reason your Maker has given _me_ a way of mending the damage he causes. I will get over this, I must. I can’t stop, can’t rest-”

Fay was crying; all the tears she had been incapable of shedding leaving hot trails down her cheeks. The bed creaked, and Hawke’s arms surrounded her. It wouldn’t banish the horrors, but it was a start. Hawke understood; he had lost his sister and mother in the most vicious way, been betrayed, hounded, redeemed traitors for what they had done to him and his allies, and he persevered. Fay selfishly hoped he would stay with the Inquisition to help her, because she needed someone like Hawke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Only the living know victory' - Na via lerno Victoria  
> Incaensor - a slang term for a magic-using slave


	47. Chapter 47

Hawke was worried. On the surface, Fay seemed to be coping with the Venatori kidnapping, and the- he couldn’t eve bear to say or think the word- rape, but he had been keeping a close eye on her since they got her back. He knew the signs: The laughter and smiles that were gone as quickly as they appeared, the over-cheerful assurances that she was fine, and not wanting to talk about what had happened. He appreciated that Fay probably didn’t want to discuss something so private, or emotionally destructive, with those she did not know that well- as in Blackwall, Fenris, or himself. But, she was falling apart, and was trying so hard not to let any of them see it.

“Da’len. You still must continue our lessons, Corypheus-”

“Solas, with respect, I just want one more night off. Tomorrow, I promise.”

“Very well. Just remember, I can guide you in facing this. You do not have to do it by yourself.”

“I know, I… I just thought…”

Hawke heard Solas making pacifying, shushing noises to Fay, and thought that he should leave them alone. The elven mage seemed to have taken a fathering role with Fay, a patriarch and counsel, with Dorian filling the shoes as a brother, though not by any relation. The people around her in the Inquisition were a family, and Hawke found that he wanted to be a part of it too. There was Fenris and Varric, but the rest of his own surrogate family had scattered to the winds. They were on the run for one reason or another since Kirkwall, except Aveline, who stayed to rally the city into rebuilding and putting itself back together.

“Hawke.”

Ah, rumbled. “Solas, I, erm. I was just passing.”

The elf raised an eyebrow, giving him the unmistakable ‘you don’t pull the wool over my eyes, Hawke’ expression that he recognised. He had, after all, seen a _lot_ of people use it in his presence. That was the nature of using sarcasm and humour in a lot of situations when intellect and seriousness were probably more appropriate- well, appropriate and expected, but not in his normal repertoire as a rule.

Solas walked with him, away from the stairwell of the tower room where Fay was staying, and they stood overlooking the pitched tents of the Inquisition soldiers. There were a good number of guards posted on the walls, archers and mages, and the double doors to the lower courtyard had been replaced. If the Venatori thought they could take them by surprise again, they were mistaken. A small company of soldiers and scouts, trained by Curly and the Nightingale, determined to protect their Inquisitor and their cause: They would not be giving Crestwood to Corypheus’ lackeys.

They had returned to Caer Bronach after meeting Stroud, and the Grey Warden had really added to their problems. Hawke had wanted to go with his friend to the Western Approach, to find out just how far the Wardens had descended into madness, but he couldn’t leave Fay. Fenris had seen how torn he was between aiding Stroud and being with the Inquisitor, so the elf had offered to go with him as bodyguard and scout instead. Damn, Hawke could have hugged Fenris for that, but he wanted to keep his organs on the inside of his body. Fenris was _not_ a hugger, or a huggee. He wouldn’t turn down bottles of wine on his return to Skyhold though, and Hawke would make sure he had a suitable ‘thank you’ arranged. Varric’s contacts had to have some use.

“I’m concerned, about Fay. I speak from experience, and more Hangman specials- and not-so-specials – than are healthy. Locking away something that hurts, or changes who we are and how we see the world… well, that only works for the short-term.”

Solas looked at Hawke, the elf’s hands clasped behind his back and lips pressed together in consideration. “Maybe you can talk to her” he said.

“Solas, why would she want to talk to me? About that? Wouldn’t Fay be better off confiding in a woman?”

Solas chuckled at his suggestion. “The Seeker? A closet romantic at heart, and they do have a respect for one other, but how do you think Cassandra would advise Fay to deal with this?”

“Hmmm, physical violence most likely. Yeah, that’s not really a fix, is it?”

“Not a good one, no. What about Sera? Perhaps Fay could throw some bees…”

“Fine, I get where you’re going. What about you then? She trusts you.”

“I would, but she does not need _my_ help. Not for this” Solas said.

“Then whose help does she need?”

“Yours.”

It was Hawke’s turn to laugh. The elven mage couldn’t be… oh, he was serious. Hawke rubbed a hand over his beard and sighed. “Solas, I don’t get how I can even possibly make this better.”

“You are far from unintelligent, Hawke. Fay is a very emotional person- the mark, anchor, taps into that as a part of her. She is a mother, isolated from a young daughter, and a woman aspiring for the love and support of friends, a companion. I had anticipated that the Commander could give her the solace she needs, but there was an unforeseen… complication. Fay has risen above much, and that struggle is ongoing. I don’t know if she will make it on her own.” Solas smiled at Hawke, who was still puzzling over what had just been said, and started to walk away. “You two have more in common than you know” he added.

Hawke pondered what to do. He didn’t want Fay to feel that he was pressuring her to talk. There was an avid desire to find out who she really was, but he would not push her into telling him anything. Her slip, the peculiar phrasing of: ‘your world’, and ‘your Maker’ had only made his interest grow. Fay had sounded as though she thought herself far apart from everything- from Thedas, even. But, that didn’t make any sense: If she wasn’t from Thedas, and the Maker was not her Maker, then where was Fay from? You’re not going to get any answers by standing here and not actually talking to her, Hawke. Fenris gave you this chance, you could be off getting sand in all sorts of uncomfortable places, so make the most of it.

“Fay, can I come in?”

No response. Maybe she had fallen asleep already? Hawke turned to leave, but paused at hearing the door panel rubbing over the floor as it opened. Fay looked up at him, her eyes bloodshot, hair tousled, and tunic rumpled.

“Hawke, I- sure. I can’t sleep anyway.”

She invited him into her temporary sleeping quarters, the room illuminated with lanterns and a lot of candles, but he caught himself before making a remark about it. Fay plainly didn’t want to be in the dark on her own, to prevent triggering the memory of that night. You’re an idiot sometimes, Hawke.

“So, Stroud… Lots of Grey Warden secrets tucked away in that moustache, huh? More than he let me know anyway, and we were supposed to be friends” he said.

Hawke sat in the rickety chair by the bedside, where he had spent most of the three days watching over her as she slept off the magebane, and Fay huddled on the bed with her chin resting on her knees.

“That’s not why you’re here, is it?”

“A little. But, no, not really.”

Unexpectedly, Fay asked him: “When Anders blew up the chantry in Kirkwall, how did you react?”

He thought back, screwing his nose up in recollection. “I was fuming, incensed that he could have done something so stupid. I shouted at him, called him names. Afterwards, I realised it was because of my pride. I thought I knew Anders better than that. Actually, no, that’s not fair. It upset me because I wasn’t able to see what was coming.”

“What did you do?”

“He remained with us until the fight with Meredith was over, and then I organised for Isabela to get him safe passage on a ship.” Hawke reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, but snatched it away again when he saw her flinch. “Shit, I should-”

Fay patted beside her on the bed. “Hawke. It’s okay. Would you…?”

He nodded, nervous, and waited for her to shift over so that he could join her. Fay initiated their sideways hug, and Hawke cuddled her against him only when he felt her relax enough to accept it. Her breathing slowed.

“You want to know if I forgave him, if Anders regained my trust?” he said quietly, and felt her nod against his chest.

The reason for her question had become apparent the more he considered the events of his own past.

“I could have turned him in, killed him in recompense- Maker knows there were some who wanted me to do just that. Anders is a friend. We’ve been through a lot, good and bad, and Carver is alive because of him. What he, and Justice, did in Kirkwall was not out of animosity towards me. It was for reformation, a radical change. Though diminished, our trust was never truly lost, because I understand now that Anders wouldn’t raise a single finger against me or any of the others: Varric, Fenris, Aveline, Isabela, and Merrill.” He paused, hugging her a little tighter. “It’s almost trite of me to say it, but I can’t give you the number you seek. I can’t tell you how much time it will take for your wounds to close again: For you to forgive, and trust in people- in men.”

Fay strained her head to look up at him, giving a smile that reached her eyes for the first time in days. “Thank you, Hawke” she said. “You’d think I’d know better, how all this shit works...”

“Sweetheart, a lot of us just blindly find our way through one mess to the next. But, we’re all here for you. And that includes me.”


	48. Chapter 48

Their pace had gathered a forward momentum. Weeks were consumed as they zig-zagged from one task to the next. Being so busy was a welcome distraction; not for Fay to forgive and forget, but to at the very least continue. She had not given credence to the Darwinian concept of survival: ‘It is not the strongest of the species that survives… It is the one most adaptable to change’. In Thedas, however, that saying was veracious.

Gradually Fay reformed and reshaped. She threw herself into training at dawn with Blackwall, as she used to with Cassandra, to hone her skills with a weapon and shield. At night, she practiced with Solas in the fade, repeating the call and release of her abilities until they heeded her without wrangling at them. Fay refused to be made impotent; she would not be brought down to her lowest ebb by anyone again.

“Why hasn’t Hawke mentioned it?” she asked Solas, disturbing his reading.

Solas shut the book, placing a thumb so that he wouldn’t lose his spot on the page before closing it. “Mentioned what, da’len?”

“The blood magic I used at Caer Bronach: The Athal’lin? Hawke was still conscious when it happened, he’s just never said anything about it. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

“Not really, no.”

Fay knotted the final stitch in the seam of Solas’ tunic, biting the end of the thread to release the needle. “And that would not be odd, because…?”

“Because Hawke thinks that it was him, and even I cannot say with certainty which of you was responsible.”

“Hawke is a blood mage?” Fay snorted with amusement. “Okay, that’s paradoxical even for the Maker, and something I find very droll.”

She folded the laundered, mended tunic and put it on top of the elf’s pack for him to stow away later.

“That is one way of looking at it.”

They had decided to rest in the tavern along the East Road, just outside of the borders of the Hinterlands, before pressing on to Skyhold. The temptation of a few ales, and a bed to sleep in before slogging through the expanse of mountains and snow, was too much for any of them to pass up. The return would take a few more days, and their clothes, boots, and armour were all disintegrating into disrepair. She had volunteered to do any interim sewing patches, though she didn’t doubt that they could do them for themselves.

Josephine had sent a message that new wardrobes awaited them, baths with hot water, moisturising oils, and soap, and hinted at other undisclosed treats; bribery for the arranged outfit fittings and dance lessons for Empress Celene’s ball- _dance lessons!_ She had two left feet for pity’s sake. Fay was not looking forward to being sent to such a formal, thriftless event. The ambassador had the Inquisition’s invitations guaranteed, so there was no getting out of it, and their warnings of an assassin still went unacknowledged. Orlesians… ugh.

Hawke had become Fay’s chaperone at bedtime- she wasn’t sure how, as they’d not discussed or agreed on it, he just did it off his own back – sharing her tent when the group made camp. He had picked up on her anxiousness about the dark and turned in when she did, uncomplaining and tolerant of her phobia. He would tell stories, and jokes that were bad enough to rival Alistair’s, keeping a lantern lit for her with his magic, which never burnt out.

Hawke deserved a night of hijinks with Varric, so tonight Solas was doubling with Fay. Mid-morning, they would walk for the forward camp where Harding would have horses saddled for them, and that would give a reasonable period for Blackwall to sober up after trying to match that pair drinking. Poor sod. He should know by now what they were like, he didn’t have a chance.

“What is your opinion of Hawke?” Fay asked.

“You wish to tell him- to grant him the knowledge about your home” Solas said.

“How did you-?”

“There would hardly be another reason for you to ask me that otherwise.”

Fay put the needle and thread on the table, and began to pace the length of the room as she talked. “I don’t suppose there is. And, yes… I don’t know. Maybe? That’s not very succinct, is it? I just don’t want to lie to him. I mean, alright, not saying something isn’t exactly lying, but it’s not far off.”

“You are no longer cowering under the mantle of the Inquisition: You are leading it. Da’len- my friend - I expect you to remain hopeful of reuniting with your daughter, but you must also consider what may offer _you_ a better future when the Inquisition’s job is complete. Some rules are not unbending.”

Solas hadn’t referred to her as a friend before, not so simply. Having the solicitous elven mage say those words gave Fay an anomalous prickle of contentment and honour. “I-I, thank you, Solas.”

“Nothing is inevitable” he said, a flicker of mettle in his smoky eyes, “and not all endings turn out as we chart. But until we give up, it is not the conclusion.”

“‘Once more unto the breach… Or close the wall with our English dead’.” Fay halted her pacing, and held up her palm to study the anchor. “I suppose it could be: Join me in the void once more, my friends, once more. Or sunder the world with stars extinguished.”

She looked over at Solas, who was sitting pensively. “A poignant, unerring synopsis of the eternal challenge confronting all races” he said with a doleful smile.

“An impromptu poem, and not a good one. Shakespeare would be turning in his grave. But, you’re right- I agree with your sentiment. I did let you know that’s annoying, didn’t I?”

“I think you may have mentioned it once or twice.”

“Hmmm… You know, you might just have convinced me. I’m giving the Inquisition up!”

Solas looked startled. “Fay, I did not encourage-”

“I’m going to jack it all in and become a famous playwright, or poet, of course” she waved his flustering aside. “I could bore Corypheus to death with a reaaaally long theatrical adaptation. Or better yet, panto. Oh, god, yes! You guys have no idea what panto is, but I can just see it now: Corypheus as a dame.” She burst into giggles, “Oh, shit, that’s actually really funny. Big wig, flowery dress, heels…”

“It is good that you are recapturing your humour.”

“Another chain-link in the armour- it’s better than the alternative.”

Fay flopped onto the bed, and Solas re-opened his book.

“I will finish this chapter, then meet you in the fade. If you are willing, there is a memory I could shape to share with you tonight: A forest of Arlathan, lost to memory and beautiful beyond description.”

“That sounds wonderful, I would really like that. Good night, Solas.”


	49. Chapter 49

“Something beginning with ‘S’.”

Fay glared at Hawke. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

Hawke twisted around on his horse to grin and shake his head, letting out a yelp as Varric- who was riding pillion on the Forder - jabbed him in the back with a finger.

“If it’s ‘snow’, Hawke, I’m going to murder you myself” the dwarf warned.

“It’s not snow. I’m not that unimaginative” he protested.

Fay thought of the possibilities. “Is it Solas?”

“No.”

“Saddle?” guessed Blackwall.

“No.”

“Sunset? Don’t tell me you’re becoming fanciful, Hawke.”

“Nope, and no.”

“Well, it isn’t Skyhold. Can’t even see it on the horizon yet” said Fay, squinting at the skyline through the peaks.

Her horse whickered in sympathy, jerking his head up and down to pull at the reins. It would be the early hours before they reached home, and they were all tired. She patted his neck, her gloves not lined or substantial enough to prevent her hands stiffening from the winter frost. Another few weeks and she’d be glad for the cold. The desert tundra of the Western Approach might sound like an appealing change now, but a few days of being sandblasted and scorched would soon alter that.

Fenris had returned to Skyhold, and the raven sent to them in the Hinterlands by Leliana reported rumours of Grey Warden mages researching ritual sacrifices. Fay spotted the perturbed glance that Hawke and Solas exchanged when she read the note to them. Blood magic- the kind that get _did_ call on demons for favours. Ball invitation or not, a demon army could not be enlisted by Corypheus to bolster the army he had already had.

“So, any more guesses or shall I put you out of your misery? Solas?”

“I would have said Silverite. Your staff blade appears to be forged of that metal.”

“It is a Silverite blade, yes. Dragon bone head, courtesy of a beastie from the Bone Pit. I did warn Hubert that a name like that was asking for trouble. Anyway, you’re wrong, the ‘S’ isn’t Silverite.”

“Alright, Hawke. What is it?” Fay asked.

“Saponaria.”

“What is that?!”

Solas laughed, pointing out a small cluster of pink flowers on some rocks they were trotting past. “Those are Saponaria. The genus is a creeper herb, which induces vomiting if ingested.”

“How was I supposed to know? Totally unfair. Varric, tell him.”

“Hawke, that’s… How _do_ you know that?” the dwarf asked, scratching at his head.

“Well, you remember the homebrew Corff used to serve at The Hanged Man?”

“The one that nearly turned Martin blind? You drank that shit?”

“It was for a dare! Three or four times… The coin made it worth it, and that lovely little plant helped to expel it the morning after.”

“You’re crazy, Hawke.”

“And that’s why you’ve always stuck by my side.”

Blackwall nudged his horse up alongside them. “No wonder I can’t drink you under the table. You could have warned me!”

Hawke held his hands up at the warrior. “It slipped my mind.”

“I came-to in the kitchen, in my… ahem” Blackwall went red as he glanced sideways over at Fay, “in my underwear” he finished.

“Not my fault” Hawke said smugly.

“You played strip Wicked Grace, whilst drunk, with _them_?” Fay asked Blackwall in disbelief.

“It will not be repeated.”

“Until we get to Skyhold” Varric said.

“Oh, no, no-”

Fay dropped back and left them to it. There was a lot to think about, and there wasn’t much else to do on the ride. There were no Venatori or Red Templars on this stretch of the Frostbacks to interrupt their journey, and no new rifts that had opened nearing the Temple. Their team had rid Ferelden of so many felons recently, it was noticeably peaceful going through the provinces south of Lake Calenhad. After consultation with Solas, Fay planned for them to resupply at Skyhold, and spend no more than a fortnight putting the Inquisition house in order- meeting with the advisors, signing her name to any papers, contracts, or treaties required by Josephine, and resolving anything else that may have cropped up in her absence. If Fenris’ firsthand report of the Warden fiasco was as dire as predicted, they would have to press on to try and staunch the flow.


	50. Chapter 50

Fay yawned, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and looked over at the couch. Hawke’s pack was still there, along with a jumbled mess of blankets, but he was gone. She must have been snoring: Hawke only left her when she was settled in a fitful enough sleep to transcend undisturbed into the fade.

Solas had shown Fay how to enable herself, tricks to sharpen her perception whilst dreaming and how to banish the nightmares so that they didn’t harry her anymore. She found Hawke’s congenial interest, and the charge he fostered over her, an enjoyable and reassuring routine. Fay knew that she would have to broach the subject of parting from his company at night soon- Hawke must have noticed that things were improving, surely? But as neither of them had mentioned it yet, the arrangement continued.

The door to her quarters opened and there was a succession of pattering footfalls.

“Darling, I’m glad you’re back. Do come quickly- your guard dogs are at each others’ throats” Dorian called.

He bounded up the top flight of stairs, taking two at a time, as Fay shrugged off the covers and swung her legs out of bed. “Dorian, woah, what’s going on?”

“The hunky Commander and the delectable Hawke are fighting.”

Fay scooped up her trousers and boots, fumbling to dress as fast as her aching, sluggish body would allow. She gawked at Dorian, busy rifling through her wardrobe, as her sleep-addled brain caught up and his words hit home.

“They’re fighting?”

“Yes, hmmm, not this one. Why is there so much beige? Venhedis! Here.”

Satisfied with his selection, Dorian handed her a cream blouse and charcoal, grey-blue belted jacket.

“Why? Cullen wasn’t even with Josephine to welcome us back to Skyhold last night- they haven’t seen each other for weeks! What the hell are they even fighting about?”

Dorian opened his mouth to reply, but a mob of voices whooping from the courtyard outside startled them both, and it was coming from the location of the sparring ring.

“Dorian, when you say fighting…”

“I mean: Hurting each other with as much violence as possible, and not the more normal, though admittedly boring, verbal means” he confirmed.

Swearing, Fay hopped on one foot and tugged on the other boot. “Do you know what they’re fighting about?” she asked.

Dorian helped her to finish dressing, cinching the belt around her waist and smoothing away the wrinkles in the fabric. “Not a clue. Sadly, the good stuff had already begun by the time I arrived and I missed the pre-match insults.”

“For fuck’s sake. Alright, let’s go throw some cold water over the pair of them and find out what’s going on, shall we?”

Fay flew down from her room and through the hall with Dorian in pursuit behind. She was unmindful of any nobles or visitors that she was flinging past in her haste to get outside of the keep, bumping into someone or something and giving an automated apology. Josephine could assuage any remonstrance, that’s what she excelled at. In the grand scheme of things, pissing off a jumped-up aristocrat was low priority.

A swell of soldiers and civilian recruits encircled the ring, and in the middle - as the men and women parted on hearing Dorian’s shouts of: “The Inquisitor coming through, move out of the way!” - she could see Cullen and Hawke. Both men were bare-chested, grappling and taking pot-shots at each other with their fists. Cullen had the advantage of brawn, but Hawke was lithe and acrobatic. Comparing their welts and bruises, they seemed to have been evenly matched so far.

Fay was only grateful that the men were showing some modicum of restraint: Cullen was not slashing at Hawke with a sword, and Hawke was not setting Cullen on fire. Still, they were acting worse than children in a playground, and it had to cease. Knowing that her own shouts would not be noticed above the throng, Fay stood for a moment unsure of what to do.

“They are so loud, so mad. What can I do to help?” Cole asked, manifesting at her side.

“Please can you tell Solas that they’ll need healing, and fetch Iron Bull to come and make this crowd disappear, Cole?”

“The Iron Bull is not a mage. Oh! You don’t mean… Yes, I can do that” he said.

Cullen managed to hook an arm around Hawke’s and hauled him forwards. Feeling his opponent lean back to counterbalance, Cullen suddenly let go. Hawke flinched at an uppercut clip to his ribs, tipping back further and landing on his backside. Cullen leapt, meaning to pin him under his weight, but Hawke scuttled away. Cullen made another grab, missed, and Hawke brought his elbow up. It caught Cullen under the chin, though instead of stunning him, he shook it off and got back on his feet. They retreated, sizing up their next blows.

Given no other recourse, Fay shielded and boosted herself with relium so that she could forcibly separate the two of them if necessary. She entered the ring, vaulting over the railings, and running to position herself to disrupt Cullen rushing at Hawke again. He jolted to a standstill against her outstretched palm and looked dazedly down at her, recoiling slightly at the thrum across her skin.

Fay hustled Cullen away with her hand set on his broad chest, pushing him back a couple of steps to reach the boundary fence. Fay then turned to assess Hawke, who spat a mouthful of blood onto the dirt and grimaced. His hackles were still raised, his aura vibrating with self-contained, unused magic, and his eyes had blackened to a turbulent navy. Whatever Cullen and Hawke were fighting about was obviously noxious.

The spectators thinned, and Iron Bull was insinuating to the stragglers that he would carry them off and use them to experiment just how far he could make a person fly from the battlements. Dorian added his own ultimatums of Flashfire and Immolate into the mix. If she wasn’t so cross, Fay was sure she would have found it funny.

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” she demanded.

Cullen’s nostrils flared as he gritted his teeth, and Fay was pleased that he at least looked ashamed about the brawl. With her hand still on Cullen’s chest, his heartbeat slowing, Fay turned to a battered Hawke and let the relium drop.

“I think the Commander should answer that” Hawke snarled.

“Sort yourself out with Solas, get freshened up, and have breakfast if you haven’t already, Hawke. I will see you later for your take on all this” she motioned over to Solas, who was waiting by the armoury with Cole. “As for you, Cullen. You will come with me. I am eager to discover why two of my friends are kicking ten tons of shit out of one another in public.”

“Fay-”

“Don’t. With me. Now. No fucking excuses.”


	51. Chapter 51

Fay led Cullen to the nearest doorway, and they took the steps down to the Skyhold dungeons. She had only been down there once before, exploring when they first arrived at the fortress. The gaping hole, which looked as though it had been caused by a blast to the wall, had deterred her from going back. The opening was over an immense drop down the crags, several hundred feet to the bottom, and she wasn’t fond of heights.

“Right. You’re going to start at the beginning. You saw Hawke, and then…?”

Cullen leant against a wall, shuddering at the sapping cold touch of the stone, and stared at the floor.

“I made a comment he didn’t like” he said quietly.

“I need details, Cullen. A fight like this is preposterous, and you of all people should know that.”

“I-I saw him coming out of your room.”

“And?”

Fay frowned. She didn’t like where this was going, or that Cullen was still avoiding eye contact with her.

“Cullen, what happened next?” she pressed.

“I thought he was sleeping with you” he finally said.

“You thought he was fucking me?”

Cullen winced at her blunt question, but nodded. “I- Fay, Maker’s breath, I’m sorry. I said something I shouldn’t have, and Hawke… Things got heated and, well, you saw the rest.”

“What did you say exactly, Cullen?”

Cullen paled, covering his hand over his eyes. “I-I said… that you couldn’t seem to wait to jump into bed with him, even a-after… Fay, I saw red, I-I wasn’t thinking-”

“Look at me” she snapped.

Cullen complied, running the hand up through his hair and gripping at the back of his neck. The grooves on his forehead deepened, and he squirmed perceptively at being enclosed in the dungeon with her- and more specifically the relium. After his confession, Fay thought he could stand the malaise for a bit longer. Tough if he couldn’t, she was going to have her say and he was going to listen.

“I was kidnapped and raped, Cullen. I had to send you a humiliating report about it, or did you fucking forget? You didn’t stop to think that maybe Hawke shares a room with me because I was scared witless of the dark, jumping at every shadow, and thinking it could happen again? You didn’t stop to think that maybe I possess a higher level of morality and dignity than to go from _that_ , to screwing every man in sight?”

“Fay-”

“No. It sounds like Hawke gave you the drubbing you deserved, and that I should thank him for it. I thought better of you, and even in- what exactly? - a petty act of unfounded jealousy? I wouldn’t have considered that you would stoop so low. Not you.”

“It wasn’t _me_ ” Cullen said emphatically. “It was a rash- it wasn’t what I wanted to say... I- Please, Fay, do you think I’d tell you this if it’s what I really meant?”

“I slept with you because I wanted you, cared for you, but that just makes me a common whore, is that it? Is that how you see me, Cullen?”

Fay was quivering with adrenaline, and hurtling into a pique that she hadn’t wanted to feel again. Cullen pushed away from the wall as she began to cry from the crushing shock, a strangling desolation, and hesitantly wrapped his arms around her. He waited, only dedicating himself absolutely to the embrace when she didn’t back away, and murmured that he was sorry. Buttery warm oil, leather, and sweat- the familiar combination of scents was consoling, and it galled her. He may not have meant it, but to say something that insensitive...

“I’ll leave the Inquisition” he said when her sobs abated. “I can’t do this anymore, and for my myopia to put you in this state…”

“No, Cullen.” Fay shook herself free and shoved at him. “You don’t get to do that” she said with indignation, drying the damp tracks on her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

“Fay, you don’t understand-”

“Are we really going to try and outdo each other with how fucked up our lives are? None of us asked for this. I know what it’s like to be penned into a place that compresses on your soul, until even death seems like a well-earned rest. The answer is not giving in and walking away. Don’t do that to me, don’t you dare.”

“Then I have to take the lyrium again.”

Fay slumped to her knees on the floor, rubbing at her arms.

“You can’t possibly want that” she said to him, shaking her head in denial. “Hang the Inquisition, and me. What is it you want to do, Cullen- for yourself, no-one else?”

“I-I want to overcome this.”

“Then that’s what you’ll do.” She thought for a moment, and Cullen eased himself down to sit beside her. “The relium-” Fay said, but he gave a stilted smile.

“I will be alright to endure for a while longer.”

Fay had been so angry: For the disrespect Cullen had shown to her, and for trading punches with Hawke in front of half of Skyhold. But, she knew him, and he was right. This had been ‘the beast’ that he cautioned her about, a doppelganger to the gallant defender cherished in her heart.

“I know you have your religious faith, but I can’t help hating the chantry for what they do to Templars- drug dependency as a tool for mass management; where I’m from it would be a heinous disregard of human rights. This delirium you’re afflicted with, if you permit me to talk to Solas, maybe there is something we can do. A safe substitute, or…”

Cullen’s fingers feathered along her chin.

“This is why I’m unworthy of you” he said hoarsely. “You let me go, and I can’t- couldn’t do the same...”

His eyes darted to her mouth, and he bit down hard on his bottom lip.

“Cullen, we can’t.”

“I know… I-I hope he makes you as happy as I wish I could, Fay.”

“What? Cullen, what are you talking about?”

“Hawke.”

“Cullen, we’re not- he’s a friend.”

“You’ll see” he said mysteriously.

Cullen leant over and Fay tensed, but he placed a kiss to the tip of her nose.

“I will try to do better” he said, and left.

Fay remembered saying those same words not long after she arrived, and that’s what they- the Inquisition - did. The abided through wretchedness to carry on, stumbling across junctions and through avenues.

How did that canticle from The Chant of Light go again?

_“I cannot see the path. Perhaps there is only abyss.”_

She had read it back at Haven, when Josephine was schooling her about Thedas. Fay had thought it rather sepulchral, yet fitting far beyond a simple prayer made by Andraste to the Maker. Many of them- men, women, elves, dwarves - tussled with the parasites leeching on to them, which gorged on the complexities and hardships of life meted out to their hosts.


	52. Chapter 52

Fay slid into the seat beside him at the table, plucking an apple from the fruit bowl and taking a bite.

“I hear that I missed the opportunity to take some bets” Varric said.

Fay rolled her eyes at him as she chewed, sniggering as Fenris grumbled: “Is the immediate thought of making coin at someone else’s expense a dwarven thing?”

“I can’t help it if I’m a business magnate.”

“You can’t teach an old scoundrel new tricks” Hawke agreed.

Andraste’s tits, Fay didn’t even seem furious. What lies had the Commander told her, to worm his way out of the incident from this morning?

“Let’s just drop it, alright” she said, and took another bite of her apple.

“Fine, Mouse, consider it dropped.”

Was she going to sweep this under the rug, and let the former Knight-Captain off the hook?

“Fay, what he said…”

She swallowed, and gave a slight shake of her head.

“It’s alright, Hawke, Cullen told me. But there is more to this than you realise, and I can’t discuss it right now. It wouldn’t be fair to-”

“I don’t care what is, or isn’t fair to _him_. Though, if that’s your wish, then so be it.”

He wouldn’t dictate to Fay what to believe, and he wouldn’t want to, but for her to defend that man from backlash, after what he’d done, irritated Hawke.

Detecting the disgruntlement of his tone, Fay quickly steered the conversation to a less volatile topic.

“I actually came by to say that the advisors are ready to meet in the war room when you are, Fenris. Oh, and we all have an appointment with the tailor today… I’m afraid that Josephine has started the process of getting our outfits ready for Halamshiral next month.”

There were groans from Blackwall and Sera, with Dorian piping up from a few seats down: “Not for that ghastly uniform Madame de Fer sketched for her?”

Fay shrugged. “Not a clue. But, if it is, and I have to wear it, then you all share in my misery.”

“But it was friggin’ shite” Sera protested. “I’ll look like one of them poncey tossers!”

“Well, then” Fay said and smiled, “we’ll all look like poncey tossers, and fit right in with the biggest pricks soiling Orlais.”

The elven rogue giggled and nodded. “They’re all turds, yeah. Soiling… hah! I get it. Like shit, innit?”

Fay turned to Hawke, a drop of juice from the apple glistening on her lips. A hand squeezed reassuringly on his thigh, and he was glad that her touch hadn’t unintentionally wandered too far above his knee. Hawke choked back a moan, and coughed to disguise it. The last thing he wanted was for her to discover his stiffness, the result of letting his thoughts idly turn to what it would taste like: To kiss away that sweet, sticky liquid…

“Hawke? - Was it really that bad a suggestion?”  

“Sorry. I was, you know, coughing, and erm, didn’t hear you.”

Varric beamed at Hawke and mouthed ‘Yeah, right’. The smart-arse dwarf noticed everything, as always, though thankfully Fay hadn’t cottoned on to his, ahem, attention.

“I said: Josephine thinks you should be my escort to the ball, and she wants to know your take on it before sending the guest list confirmation back to palace.”

“Of course, but why not…”

“… Cullen? She babbled about political power play: The Inquisitor and The Champion of Kirkwall, blah, blah.”

Fay looked anxiously at him, and he smiled; the Commander would be steaming over that change of plans, wouldn’t he? His antipathy was tough to obtain, but after his flagrant affront to Fay, Hawke had added Cullen’s name to the mental list of people against whom his vindictiveness was justifiable. The ex-Templar had exceeded his estimations after Kirkwall, only to show, disappointingly, that he hadn’t changed much after all.

“It would also mean, however, that you’d have to dance with me… and I can only apologise in advance” Fay joked.

“Sweetheart, it would be my pleasure.”

“Great.” Fay sighed in relief. “I’ll go and give Josephine your answer.”

She tracked Cullen passing through the hall on his way to the meeting, and watched Leliana stride out from the rotunda, her hands clasped behind her back in a similar fashion to the posture favoured by Solas. Fay didn’t rise from her chair until the door to Josephine’s office closed behind them.

“I-I would offer for you to join us, Hawke, but I don’t know if he- if you…”

“Go, it’s fine.”

Her breath on his neck, the crisp aroma of the apple she was eating, the lock of hair falling over her face as she bent to speak softly in his ear, it all added to his arousal.

“Thank you, for what you did” she whispered.

Fay looked at him with an earnest gratitude, and there was also something else in her expression- a coyness, an indecision.

“Have lunch with me?”

“I’ll be here at the bell” Hawke said, pleased to see her face brightening at his acceptance.

“No parting hug for luck from my favourite Champion?” she asked. “We _are_ okay- aren’t we?”

If he refused, that would make Fay conclude- wrongly - that he was upset, and possibly harbouring a grudge about shovelling aside the shit from this morning. But, if he accepted, Fay would feel what a compromising position he was in. Hawke didn’t want her thinking of him as a letch, or… Meredith! Yes, thank the Maker, that was working. Meredith, naked, on a cold day. There wasn’t a single man who could picture that and stay hard.

Fay hummed in contentment as she separated from their hug, and escorted Fenris to the war room.

“Not a word, Varric. You have no idea what I had to imagine.”

The dwarf burst into uproarious laughter, holding his hands up in surrender. “I don’t want to know, Hawke, I really don’t.”


	53. Chapter 53

"Boss! Boss! Draaaaaaaaaaagon! Please, tell me we're fighting her?"

Fay shifted the strap of pack over her shoulder to stop it rubbing the patch of skin that was already sore, her tunic drenched and clinging to her back. The Western Approach had a humid, stifling atmosphere, and they were all getting through their water supplies faster than anticipated. Climbing up from a shallow oasis, refilling their flasks with tepid, questionable water, Fay was worried about what they were going to do once they were amidst the undulating dunes. Now there was a dragon prowling above, because, of course, why not?

"Uh, maybe you can bring the Chargers on a road trip. I'd rather not get incinerated today, if it's all the same to you."

"Fair enough, boss. I'm itching to see that beauty in Crestwood you told me about, now there's another! Today is a good day."

Iron Bull stared up at the dragon greedily, its scales a magnificent shade of merlot wine against the rusted orange pillars of sandstone. Fay was relieved when it launched itself into the air with a shrill cry, and after circling once, disappeared off into the distance.

"I agree with Fay. Having fought one of those before, which was a darned sight smaller-"

"- bigger, Hawke" Varric interrupted with a tut. "Is it any wonder I don't let you drum up publicity for my books?"

"Bigger is _always_ better" Dorian added, and gave a dirty chuckle.

"The dragon in the Bone Pit also only had one head, and certainly didn't breathe lightning out of its arse, unlike your elaboration, Varric" Hawke said, ignoring Dorian's suggestive comment. 

"There isn't a creative bone in your body, is there, my friend?" Varric said.

"There could have been" Dorian ribbed, "but Hawke is not susceptible to my charms, sadly."

Hawke lay prone on the ledge above and stretched his hand down to Fay, who was gripping onto the rungs of the ladder with a burgeoning panic. The wood was brittle, and who knew how long it had been out here, or how long it would last? There was a lot of jagged rocks on the way down if she slipped and fell... 

"What I was trying to say, is that we should avoid being toasted. At least until we've gotten the conference with Stroud over with" he grumbled.

He hauled Fay up safely, stroking a thumb against her cheek as she clung to him, her pulse thudding. Cassandra was the last up to the top, and she mopped at the beads of sweat dripping down from her temples.

"Yes, let's not worry about getting the Inquisitor killed" the Seeker said, looking skyward in exasperation.

"You know, Cassandra."  Bull grinned. "I just really like hitting things."

"So I gathered."

"See! I knew you'd understand."

Solas cooled them with a zephyr of ice magic, and although the effect didn't last long, it was enough to hearten the seven of them to trudge on. Whether because of the heat, or just the muddle of everything that had been going on, Fay's thoughts became rambling: How did Solas stop his head from burning- was it magic, or herbs and oils the elf blended to act like sun lotion? Was Cole still sneaking honey into Leliana's tea? Was Cullen feeling better, with her and the relium away from Skyhold for a while? What if he decided to leave, or take lyrium without her there to prevent him doing so?

"You doing alright, sweetheart? You seem preoccupied."

"Just the heat, Hawke. Fair skin and the sun don't make a good combination. I can't imagine how you're feeling, Cassandra, under all that metal plate."

"It is- unbearable, yes" the Seeker admitted with a deflated sigh.

Fay was light-headed and faint, every step a cumbersome chore. This region was purgatory- an intolerable, uninhabited hell hole.

Iron Bull shaded his good eye, peering across the arid landscape of sand and boulders. "There's some caves over there, and some wagons?" he said, pointing northeast.

"Stroud is waiting southwest of here though, isn't he?" Fay asked Hawke. "That would take us in the wrong orientation."

"We could loop round that way and then head west, keeping out of the sun until the temperature drops" he said, ruffling his beard.

"Well, unless Bull wants to give me a ride on his shoulders, getting out of this heat is a good plan."

"Hey, boss, all you have to do is ask" Iron Bull growled with a wink.

Hawke bridled at Iron Bull's jest, his aura blazing with agitation, and Fay was surprised at the strength of his reaction. She blinked, confounded, and Hawke averted his gaze before she could interpret the intensity surfacing from beneath the depths. Had there been some accuracy to what Cullen had said about Hawke? She had thought it to be a throwaway remark, a mitigation for his outburst at her friend, but now she wasn't sure.


	54. Chapter 54

Fay and her companions spent most of the day delving through caves, where the cellar-like conditions kept their body heat within accustomed ranges. Her enervation reduced, though the evidence they found was disturbing enough to impose a supplemental strain: Corypheus' Red Templars were somehow artificially manufacturing red lyrium, growing it in the bodies of test subjects for cultivation. From the scraps of notes that they could decipher, the subjects were caged and kept alive until 'production reached optimal volume'. The bastards were growing it in people, and then farming them just as a rancher would butcher his cattle.

The operation had been moved, the caves disused and left to the sandstorms, spiders, and hyenas, and that stressed Fay even more. Without knowing the locale, the Inquisition couldn’t shut the debauched Red Templars down. With stocks of red lyrium, Corypheus could turn more men- not just Templars - to his side, subjugating soldiers, mercenaries, even citizens across Thedas. The Grey Wardens had once locked Corypheus in one of their strongholds, and now they were up to something that involved their ‘Calling’, and blood magic- again. Fay couldn’t help feeling that the darkspawn magister was pivoting the odds against them.

Fay had left Blackwall and Cole at Skyhold for those reasons: If Blackwall was already hearing his Calling, whatever the rest of the Grey Wardens were doing had the potential to magnify it; she was not going to put him in any situation that could break him. The warrior had not been chuffed about her proposal, but at least he understood Fay’s logic. As for Cole, any offensive blood magic- not of the limited kind that Fay could use, and possibly not of Hawke’s either - that involved summoning demons, could have an unknown, divergent impact on the spirit.

"Inquisitor. It's a shame I could not remake your acquaintance under different circumstances." Stroud put his fist to his heart in a formal salute to Fay, and nodded at Hawke. "It is good to see you again too, of course. I trust Fenris is well?"

The two men clasped forearms in handshake, slapping each other on the back.

"Grouchy as ever," Hawke said, "so that's a good sign. He stayed at Skyhold to recuperate- to say that we have a busy few weeks ahead is a bit of an understatement."

Stroud's teeth flashed with a smile, which was all but buried by his formidable horseshoe moustache. "There is a bottle of West Hill Brandy stashed near to your Inquisition camp at Lost Spring Canyon, a reimbursement of his assistance, if you will. I shall impart its co-ordinates to Scout Harding when we are finished here."

"How do you know about Scout Harding?" Fay asked.

"Ah, though I try to avoid it, I am no stranger to the Game. Information is key" Stroud explained.

"Wily" Hawke reminded her, and Fay laughed.

"Very well. Can you give us any update, Warden Stroud?"

“There is a gathering of Grey Warden mages and warriors across the bridge, at a site that once stood as a Tevinter ritual tower. They are marshaled by a magister, a member of these ‘Venatori’. I don’t know why Clarel would work with this man- blood magic, sacrifices…” Stroud looked stricken. “I think they are about to begin, so we should proceed. Hawke and I will have your backs.”

Oh, right. The Inquisitor was expected to lead them into the wolves’ den, Fay thought glumly. Once she saw that everyone had armed themselves, and were deferring to her for a signal, Fay stood tall and walked on ahead. Cassandra and Iron Bull fell in just a step or two behind, and the rest followed. The mark spluttered when they came to the staircase, and the fade seeping through into the air above felt curdled. Fay paused, her foot hovering over the first tread.

“Right here, boss” Iron Bull said discreetly.

She steeled herself to be calm, impassive, and marched up to the platform where the conglomeration of Grey Wardens was performing their occult summoning.

“Inquisitor! So nice of you to join us” a strident voice shouted. “And a Grey Warden- the one Clarel let get away.”

Fay forced herself to look past the heap of bodies, to not stare at the silver griffins and sapphire stripes blemished by congealing, gory splatters. A line of Wardens and rage demons stood motionless, primed, and under the command of the magister grinning at them in triumph. They had got there too late, and now the Warden warriors were decomposing in the sun with flies ambling on their faces. Her strangled cry was submerged by a breaker of dissent from her friends at the diabolical tableau, and the Venatori mage cackled at their revulsion.

The confrontation soon escalated into a battle. Livius Erimond cast a spell to disable her, connecting with his own magic to the anchor. Fay managed to concentrate through the sudden rending in her brain to make the energy rebound, and with the link severed, the magister took that as his cue to set his marionettes on them.

“Fucking chickenshit, get back here” she snarled.

Something snagged her around the wrist, whisking her backwards away from the frontline. Fay opened her mouth to scream, sending a spike of relium to her weapon arm so that she could escape.

“Relax, it’s me. You’re safe.”

She sagged against Hawke’s chest, watching Iron Bull and Cassandra divide the vacuous pack. Erimond was nowhere to be found once the fighting was done, and Fay was livid that the magister had got away. There were too many things coinciding together: Red Templars murdering people to create red lyrium, the Grey Wardens’ code of protection malformed into a suicide pact of binding demons to mage operators, and Corypheus’ intention to send Orlais into disarray with the assassination of the Empress.

“I really need to take up juggling” Fay said to Dorian.

“Why be a jester at your own court?” The mage turned up his nose, “There are plenty of candidates at Skyhold- that Orlesian merchant, Belle, for example. She already has an alarming collection of hats.”

“Dorian… That-that’s not what I meant, but never mind.”

“If you need me, I’ll be over there lighting the pyre- so glamorous. ‘Come to the Western Approach, Dorian, there’ll be sun, sand…’” he wandered off with Solas to deal with the dead.

As Fay, Cassandra, and Hawke were obligated to attend the ball at Halamshiral, it was Iron Bull who volunteered to accompany Stroud. The Grey Warden thought Erimond had probably fled to Adamant Fortress, but they needed prudent, factual data to be sent back to Cullen and Leliana for evaluation. Fay extended an offer of sanctuary at Skyhold to Stroud once they were done with the reconnaissance, and fussed over Iron Bull until the two warriors were prepared to set off.

“Boss, I’ll be fine… I don’t need your water flask… I’ll take the extra healing potions, if it stops you nagging… I promise I won’t try and take on the dragon in single-handed combat… You worry worse than Krem!”

Iron Bull flapped his hands at Fay to try and get her to desist, so she stood with her hands on her hips and pouted at him.

“I’m just-” she began.

“I know, boss, I’ll miss you too.”

“And here we see the mothering instinct of wild Inquisitorialness, as she sends one of her brood from the nest…”

“Varric! Ugh, I give up. See you back at Skyhold, Iron Bull. The rest of you- less picking on the Inquisitor, more helping her set up camp before nightfall, somewhere we’re not in danger of being eaten by varghests.”


	55. Chapter 55

Their drowsy party encountered a small group of Venatori on the meander north, and as the sun was dipping below the land, they finally found a place to hole-up for the night. Fay ducked under the archway that joined onto a tumbledown tower, which she supposed had once been a longer bridge expanse over the hot springs and sulphur pits dotting the vitriolic wastes, and sat on her bedroll with a thankful groan.

“So much walking… fuck this place” she said. “Anything interesting in there?”

Hawke was digging through one of the sacks they liberated from the Venatori, and held a scrap of paper up to the lantern light: “Property of Professor Frederic of Serault” he read.

“Am I mean to know who that is?”

“Huh, Orlesian. Likely not anyone _actually_ important, just bought himself a fancy sounding title or something. There’s notes on animal baits, pots of ink, a handkerchief, three quartz crystals, oh, and a cup with matching saucer… yeah, I can’t figure it out either. How’s that shoulder?”

“Hmmm? Oh, it’s nothing” she said.

“It’s bleeding.”

Fay started, and twisted her head to look. “Shit. Guess that strap chafed more than I thought.”

“You should take a look, Fay. It’ll need cleaning and dressing, or it’ll get infected.”

“Nah, it’ll be fine.”

“Solas and Dorian are setting mines and traps around the perimeter, Cassandra is on watch at the top of the tower with Varric, so why don’t you let me help?”

“Hawke, that’s sweet of you, but…”

“I’ll turn around, like I always do when you need to change or whatever. I may be a rascal, but I’m a gentlemanly one” he said with one of those cheeky grins that always caused her to cave-in.

“Argh, you do that on purpose, don’t you?” she accused. “Alright, alright. Thank you, Hawke.”

He turned his back, and Fay stripped off her slovenly tunic with a hiss. Her shoulder was scarlet, the oozing cut smarting at having the material peeled away from raw, exposed skin. She lay on her front, calling out that she was decent, and heard Hawke going through his pack to find the necessary items. There was a chink of bottles and rustling.

“I insist on carrying your bag tomorrow” Hawke said, crouching beside her. “You- err, you didn’t need to take your band off. This would be easier if you were sitting, I think, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Band? Oh.” Fay laughed. “I didn’t take it off- I don’t wear one.”

Hawke uncorked one of the bottles and poured a fluid, which stank of liquor, onto a pad of lint. He swabbed at the inflamed area and dabbed gently over the abrasion, whilst Fay tried to not let her gaze linger on the way his pectorals and biceps flexed beneath the very thin, unbuttoned shirt he was wearing. Hawke’s nose scrunched in concentration and he bent closer to inspect what he was doing, paying utmost attention to her- and only her. With an unremittent smile, Fay found herself studying the lines of his face in the lantern glow.

“There” he said when he was done. “I have some salve to put on it, then I should wrap it… though I don’t know how you want to go about-”

“Hawke.”

How was she going to cover up enough, or explain the scars away without telling him at least a portion of the truth? Fay sighed, caught in the limbo of irresolution. The waters were muddied, but when were they not? She felt an inordinate affection for Hawke and found comfort in his presence, in a manner that almost made her fearful. The only men that evoked such a warmth in her, as he did, were Andrew- before her illness - and Cullen. She didn’t want to lose Hawke to the same unhappy coincidence. But what did any of that mean exactly? Sodding hell.

“Did I hurt you?” Hawke asked, “I tried to be as gentle as possible, sorry.”

Solas may have said she didn’t need it, but Fay had asked for sanction from her advisors to tell Hawke and Fenris about herself, and received it. But, she had made the decision to wait until after Halamshiral to take them aside; Fay figured the less the man and elf were aware of, the less of a threat they would be under from inevitable espionage at the Empresses’ masquerade. The fact that Hawke knew Fay wasn’t being honest with him, and didn’t treat her with any contempt or wariness because of it, didn’t lessen her guilt.

“No. I-. Wait. Do you sense that?” Fay queried. “A static cloud… or something. Out there.”

“You’re starting to sound like that kid. What’s his name: Clyde? Cliff?”

“Cole. Hawke- I know I probably seem neurotic, but we’re being watched.”

“It’s been a long-”

“Darkspawn!” Varric’s shout rang out from above.

Fay rolled onto her side and sat up, all feelings of guilt and trepidation forgotten as she grabbed for her armour and weapon. It wasn’t often she was right, but when she was, why did it have to be about something sinister and unwelcome? The undead, and now darkspawn: Blighted things that had once been men, elves, dwarves. Is that how writers and movie makers came up with their grotesque and depressing ideas- glimpsing through a veil, the fade, to parallel universes like Thedas? It wasn’t the first time that Fay had wondered such a thing.

Fay winced as her clothing grazed over the unbandaged laceration. “Ah, crap, that stings…”

She emerged at the base of the tower with Hawke, and Cassandra dropped from the crumbling ledge with a thud in front of them.

“Why are there darkspawn _here_?”

“Do you want me to ask them?” Varric called from his vantage point.

“No. Just tell them they’re mistaken, to turn the fuck around, and piss off back wherever they came from. No blights today, thank you very much.”

Cassandra snorted, rising from her crouched landing and pulled out her sword.

“If only it were that easy” the Seeker said.

She indicated for Fay to retreat to the cover provided by the wall, and took up a defensive spot facing out from the campfire opposite her. Solas and Dorian hurried over to convene with the three of them on the ground, and there was the tell-tale clunk of Varric loading Bianca overhead.

“They will not get close at speed, Seeker” Solas said. “We have contained the area.”

“All of our hard work: Poof, gone! Up in ice and flame. Bloody savages” Dorian groused.

Solas rolled his eyes. “That is what the snares are there for” he scoffed, “not to look ‘pretty’.”

“But they are pretty. Mine, at least. Yours could use a bit more flair.”

Fay opened her mouth to retort to Dorian, but Hawke had brought his hand up to cradle her chin with his fingers, and the delicate touch made her stall. He tilted her head up to look at him, and there was an undiscernible, potent emotion in his eyes.

“Oh.”

Her cheeks heated with a blush at the way her stomach fluttered.

“Sweetheart, did you think I would be pitiless and cruel?” he asked her quietly.

Fay raised an eyebrow sceptically at Hawke, not sure how to reply. They hadn’t really chatted much when he was sterilizing the cut, and although the alcoholic liquid had nipped with sharp teeth she had expected it to burn a little. But it was nothing, so why was Hawke troubled about it...? She saw the corner of his lips curled with a smirk as he watched the realisation unfold, and it increased even more at hearing the resultant exclamation of: “Shit.” How could she have been so careless?

“Later, Hawke” Fay promised.

“Scars tell of the trials that we conquer” he said, keeping his voice low. “You’ve withstood so much, and that guts me” he added, taking his hand away as the first mine protecting their camp detonated with a pillar of fire.

Solas’ barrier lit up blue around them, and Cassandra clattered her sword against her shield as the darkspawn ambled towards the camp.


	56. Chapter 56

“Aren’t we a sitting target for the dragon up here?”

“Against an unknown number of darkspawn still biding their time, or a diurnal dragon, I’ll take sitting up this tower” Dorian said.

“Dragons aren't nocturnal? Okay, I feel a little better knowing that.”

“Most hunt their prey by sight and smell, but there are some that rely on sound and smell. So, no, not all dragons are only active during daylight” Solas corrected him.

“And now I’m feeling worse again.”

“The one prowling this area is not nocturnal, however” the elf assured Fay.

“Speaking of smell, what is that?” Hawke asked as he picked his way between the others, seating himself with his back to the wall behind Fay. She scooted up to sit between his legs and relaxed wearily into his hold.

“Cheese” Varric said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He nodded over to the corner away from where they were huddled together. “There’s a whole wheel of it.”

“Can’t you throw it over the side? It might put the darkspawn off.”

“I’m not touching it, Hawke. If you want to, go ahead.”

Cassandra sighed. “It is rather fetid… I’ll do it” she said.

There was a cheer from Hawke, Varric, and Dorian as the Seeker stabbed her sword into the offending block of dairy and hoisted it from the top of the tower. Fay heard the thump of it hitting the ground a few seconds later.

“Thank you, Seeker” said Solas from his bedroll next to Varric.

The elven mage had closed his eyes, but there was a small smile of amusement on his face.

“How _did_ you know about the darkspawn?”

“I don’t know, Hawke. I can detect red lyrium, like in those Red Templar Shadows before they pop out of stealth, but darkspawn? Do they even take lyrium?”

“Not that I know of, but they do have emissaries” Varric said, patting Bianca in memory. “As if the Deep Roads weren’t deadly enough- no, darkspawn alphas using blood magic, that’s what you really want to make your backside clench.”

“Well, as they had no spellcasters with them I think it’s safe to assume that it wasn’t blood magic that I could sense.”

“Maybe it is another affect of the mark, and the relium?” Cassandra suggested. “Do you feel anything now?”

“No.”

Dorian yawned. “Then let’s get some sleep, shall we?” he said, still clutching his staff as he rolled over.

Fay closed her eyes, the rise and fall of Hawke’s chest slowing beneath her head.

Birds sang from the dense canopy of trees, moss covered trunks surrounding her that were so tall they could be holding up the sky. Fay smiled, remembering the dreamscape as one that Solas had shaped for her when they were returning to Skyhold from Crestwood: A forest from the time of Arlathan.

“Ferelden and Orlais have some charms, somewhere I’m sure, but I prefer this vision of Thedas” Fay called.

“It is a pity that so much like this was lost” Solas agreed, stepping out from behind the cover of trees beside her. A silver halla with corkscrew antlers dashed past, weaving through the bushes and undergrowth.

“I, err- is this your dream or mine?” she asked with a laugh.

“I called you here” Solas said, “I thought after today, a more halycon backdrop would be welcomed.”

“It certainly is. So, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Do you know how I could sense the darkspawn before they appeared at camp? I thought only Grey Wardens could do that.”

“You would normally be correct.”

Fay groaned and ran her fingers through her hair; she always braced herself when he said that to her. “Oh, for- Alright, what’s the ‘but’?”

“The chantry teaches that magisters trespassing into the Golden City was the cause of the blights, but… there is a memory of an ancient account in the fade that would suggest another reason.”

She sat cross-legged and plucked a blade of grass, fiddling it between her fingers. “And what did this memory suggest?” she asked.

“Millennia ago, the fade and the world were one. Spirits co-existed with the living, and all types of magic were commonplace. There were beings that sculpted the land, and others that took to the skies. Before the blights, the shapers of the stone were called the titans. Lyrium was the lifeblood in their veins, the Stone’s first children, and they were the progenitors of the dwarven people.”

“That would explain why the dwarves can handle raw lyrium.”

“Also, their ability to hear the song of the stone and the lyrium within it, yes. It is possible that one of these titans succumbed to a greater power- the memory indicates the lyrium’s song turned to one of anguish and despair. The dwarven kingdoms perished and the shaperate struck all accounts of the titans from their records, which is why they are forgotten.”

“So, what could do that to a titan, and why?”

“I do not know. Perhaps the titans were not benevolent to other races and posed a threat. Regardless, if the lyrium in the titan’s blood was altered-”

“It became red lyrium?”

“Or a substance akin to it.”

“Then that could have caused the blight, and the darkspawn.”

“Indeed.”

“So, I can sense them because red lyrium _is_ a part of them- they were created from polluted titan blood that started the blight. But, the relium in me is different- I’m not blighted, am I?”

Solas shook his head. “If anything, I would say that you have an immunity to it. Consider this: Your body, your blood, altered the red lyrium and made it harmless to you.”

Fay frowned, pulling apart the blade of grass and watching the pieces’ spiral to the viridescent carpet. She brushed her hand over her knee to get rid of a few wayward scraps.

“Is that why Corypheus thinks I’m copying the ‘gods’? My strange aura- the fade, the anchor, combined with red lyrium - and my relium sounding like the prehistoric lyrium from titans due to a correlation to the blight?”

“It is a possibility, and when considered in that way, the most plausible explanation.”

“Connecting to the mark hurt Corypheus, in fact I think it was the only reason he let me go, but what if it wasn’t so much the magic of the mark-”

“And the lyrium in your blood? I have thought of this.”

“Well?”

“It seems that your blood could cure the blight” he confirmed. “Specifically, blight that it comes into contact with, and absorbs.”

“Fuck. I don’t fancy the idea of everyone knowing _that_. I thought having blood magic abilities was likely to get me hung by the Inquisition if they ever found out, but this…”

“This puts you in even greater danger. It is best kept between us.”

“Secrets upon secrets. I hate this, Solas.”

“I know, da’len, but-”

His face contorted in dismay.

“I have to go. Wisdom…” he said, and vanished.


	57. Chapter 57

Lothering had been an impoverished village, which started out as nothing more than a muddy trading post off the Imperial Highway. No-one that lived there could afford to own a horse. Old Barlin had sometimes led the local children around the square on the back of Alda, his prized milk cow, which was as close as any of them got to that luxury. Later, in the Free Marches, the only horses Hawke saw were those of the occasional soldier returning to their lord’s manor, or an Orlesian travelling merchant or two.

It wasn’t until after Kirkwall that he had mounted a horse and taught himself how to not fall out of the saddle. He and Fenris had rustled a pair of dun Ranger’s from a stable for their flight west, with the aim of putting as much distance between them and the city as possible. They eventually sold the horses to barter their way onto a ship crossing the Waking Sea; the trader who bought them got a bargain for two even-tempered geldings- ignoring the fact that they were stolen goods of course.

Hawke made himself slacken his jaw, aware that he was clenching his teeth together, again- as he had been doing on and off for the last two hours. The obvious advantage to riding rather than walking was the ability to get to a destination quickly, but he still wasn’t convinced the benefit of that outweighed the ache in his legs, spine, and buttocks. They had collected their mounts from an Inquisition’s handler at a farmstead east of Lake Celestine, and after three long, tiring days they were now entering the Exalted Plains.

“So, we follow this river?” Fay asked Solas.

They had halted their mounts abreast, and the two of them were pouring over a tattered map produced from Fay’s saddlebags.

“Northwest, yes.” Solas said, pointing at the parchment. “It will take us close to this camp, before we cross the bank here.”

“A camp? One of ours, or…?”

Cassandra’s Forder trotted past Hawke’s and Varric’s to join the pair up front, and the Seeker peered over at the chart.

“I would suggest that it is the last known location of a Dalish camp” she said, referring to where Solas had indicated. “Though the symbol is smudged, I recognize it as one of Leliana’s designs- a representation of the Dalish vallaslin.”

Fay bent to scrutinize the marker. “Ah, I recall Harding mentioning something about that” she said thoughtfully. “Dalish tattoos are a cultural tradition and religious patronage, aren’t they?”

“A romantic notion of practices carried out by the elvhen” Solas said with a slight sneer.

Solas didn’t seem to be like either distinctive class of elves that Hawke had ever come across. He did not have a vallaslin, but was learned about a raft of topics- more than even university trained scholars – that made Hawke doubt that he’d grown up in an alienage. It was also apparent that Solas had no rapport for the Dalish, their folk tales, or their conventions, so it didn’t seem that he was from a clan either.

When Hawke had asked why he did not use a family name, Solas dismissed it as a trivial matter with no bearing on his work for the Inquisition. Although true, it was an unusual attitude- unless there was a falling out, a feud. He could have a brother like Carver, Hawke thought, that would explain a lot.

“You think the elvhen regarded the vallaslin’s significance differently? To how it’s been passed down through the ages, I mean?” Fay asked.

“Any race without written historical records, and fragmented into nomadic tribes as the Dalish are, is bound to have some areas of misinterpretation in their traditions and lore” Solas offered as verification.

“Hmmm, good point” Fay said, rolling up the map and tucking it away again.

“We may want to cross over the river sooner, in case the camp is still there. The Dalish are reclusive and suspicious of humans- I do not wish for us to antagonize them with our presence” Cassandra advised.

Hawke gave Varric a surreptitious wink. “I don’t know what you mean, Seeker. The Dalish are lovely, they’ll just invite us all to have tea and snacks with them.”

“Like they did at Sundermount?” Varric rubbed at his neck, “The only offer of a snack I recall was for the demon possessing Keeper Marethari to nibble on _us_.”

“Bah, they only got angry one time…”

“Hawke, that ‘one’ time was when the whole clan tried to kill us.”

Fay tossed Hawke and Varric a curious look, and Solas led their column on. Hawke squeezed his legs around Oscar’s middle and lifted the reins forward to get him moving. The horse flicked his mane in irritation at having his rest cut short, before reluctantly setting off walking behind Fay and Cassandra.

“They can’t all be uncivilized barbarians like our resident hermit” Dorian called out from behind.

Solas didn’t rise to Dorian’s goading, though Hawke was sure he heard a sigh coming from the elf’s direction.

“Daisy used to invite us to tea. She made oat cakes with honey. Do you remember those, Varric?”

There was a gurgling growl beside him, and Hawke chuckled. It would seem Varric remembered the oat cakes as fondly as he did. Their pursuit to the Exalted Plains meant that breakfast and lunch was consumed on the move, consisting of whatever dried rations they had left in their packs. Far from appetizing, or satisfying. What he wouldn’t do for a decent cooked meal, a sugary dessert, or just a good ale…

“Please, stop talking about food, Hawke. Bianca and I have a date tonight with one of those snoufleur, and I’m already sizing up whether I can eat a whole one by myself.”

“Looks chewy, if you ask me” Dorian said with disgust. “I ought to put in a formal complaint about the food on this trip.”

“Take it up with the Inquisitor, Sparkler.”

“Well, I’m sorry that on the road we can’t have à la carte dining” Fay replied. “But you all knew what you were signing up for.”

“What is cart dining?” Cassandra asked.

“Sounds Orlesian” Dorian said. “Small, fancy portions that don’t fill you up at all.”

“À la carte means from a menu, like in a restaurant. And Varric… that water-pig thing is twice your size, you couldn’t possibly-”

“Do you want to make a bet on that, Mouse?” Varric interrupted, jingling his coin purse in his jacket pocket.

Fay shook her head. “Nope. I learnt my lesson a while ago: No more betting with the dwarf.”

“Shame you never gathered the same, Hawke, huh?” Varric teased.

“True” Hawke agreed, “It would have saved me a lot of silver over the years.”

They rode on in silence, and Hawke became distracted with formulating a plan for when they were back at Skyhold. He wanted to show Fay that she meant a great deal to him, more than just as a friend. But he wanted the gesture to be subtle enough for Fay to draw her own conclusions, and to put the control of the deck entirely in her hand. She’d been through enough as it was, without her thinking he was being inappropriate or inconsiderate.

He could start with flowers- did she have a favourite flower? Hawke scratched at his beard as he thought. Varric would know, or maybe Solas, he decided. Though, all the talk about food had given him the idea to take Fay on a picnic lunch; but trying to think of a location was eluding him for the moment. The Frostbacks weren’t exactly great for sitting around outside. Ah, but you have magic, Hawke, a few fire runes…

The horses splashed through the river, and they dismounted on the opposite bank. Solas tipped his head at the path that would take them to the steppe.

“It’s not much farther” Solas said, “we are nearing the location I divined for Wisdom’s call for help.”

“How can you be sure that this spirit isn’t tricking us, to get to Fay?” Varric queried as they tramped with the horses along the parched dirt. Hawke had wanted to ask the same question, though had opted to refrain.

“I trust Solas” Fay said before the elf could answer. “This spirit is his friend, and if Solas merits their nature as one that is venerable and sincere, then so do I.”

Cassandra picked up a discarded arrow. “Bandits” she told them, reviewing the low-grade materials that Hawke could see had been used for the head and fletching. His eye was drawn to a pair of booted feet sticking out from behind a stack of rounded rocks near to where Cassandra stood, and the ground there was pocked with black scorches. A heaviness sunk to the pit of his stomach- that was the work of magic, demons, or both.

“Bandits didn’t do that” he said, and undid the strap holding his staff to the back of Oscar’s saddle.


	58. Chapter 58

He was gone. Wisdom was dead, and none of them could reverse what had happened; the mages had bound Wisdom in a summoning circle and turned the spirit into Pride- to fight for them. Breaking the stones had somehow reverted Wisdom back to her spirit form, but it had not been enough. ‘A moment of peace’ was not the outcome Solas had sought, or that the spirit had deserved. Fay had tried, she really had, but she was just a salmon straining to jump upstream during a flood. Was Solas really coming back, and what did the message Wisdom relayed for Fay before vanishing mean?

“Fay? Are you alright?” Hawke was asking, but she couldn’t answer him.

 _“I have asked the others to take over my care”_ Solas had translated, frowning in puzzlement.

There had been something indeterminate about the spirit, like Cole, that made Fay uncertain whether she had seen Wisdom somewhere before. But, she couldn’t sharpen any such memory into focus- a when or where. Why did the spirit’s parting comment instill Fay with fear rather than comfort, and why had Rebecca’s name come to mind the instant Solas told her those words?

“Fay, darling, come sit over here” Dorian urged, tugging her by the arm.

“…got hit by that electric whip... not bad… I don’t know if he is” she could hear Cassandra saying to someone.

Fay shook herself from the trance and looked up at Dorian. “I’m here, just- I’m sorry.” She perched on a boulder and put her head in her hands.

“You took a few knocks, but you seem to be in one piece.”

Fay licked at her split lip, tasting warm copper, and nodded at him. “Yeah, I got away lightly I think.”

“We’ve got company approaching” Varric warned. “Bandits” he clarified.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking joking” Fay snapped.

She adjusted her grip on her shield strap and was surprised to see a long gauge along the sleeve of her leather jacket. The armour had held and absorbed the damage as it was crafted to do, though her elbow was protesting from being bashed against one of the summoning pillars when she dodged a swipe from the pride demon a fraction too late.

“Well, now that Solas killed the mages, I guess we’re the next best target” the dwarf and reloaded bolts into his crossbow.

Dorian took up Solas’ usual position and cast a barrier over them, and Hawke began to protect their flanks with mines. Both of their auras compressed tightly with the energy they were drawing from the fade. The bandits’ gear was basic, the leathers worn and thin, but there were six outlaws with hand axes and small wooden round shields heading from the south, with another five from the east to reinforce them. She didn’t agree with their recourse, but Fay could understand why the travelling mages had thought their only option to get through the plains was to bind a powerful creature to protect them.

“Archers” Hawke said.

Varric nodded, “I see them, Hawke. Two over there, and one, two… no, three scaling that mound.”

Sixteen against five, and without Solas, they had limited barriers and no healer.

“Shit. Dorian, can you cast again yet?”

He twisted his staff in a figure of eight. “I was thinking a nice wall of fire and a barrage.”

“Perfect” Fay said, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling as he let loose a blast of magic and a line of flames sprung up from the ground to curve around them.

She turned to Hawke and Varric. “You two can take down those archers fast?”

“Consider it priority” Hawke said.

“On it, Mouse.”

The bandits pulled up short of the inferno partitioning their access, and Fay nodded to Cassandra in unspoken preparedness for when the first ones pushed through. With no Iron Bull, or Blackwall, it was up to Fay to support the Seeker on the front line. She mustered the relium, her skin crackling with its pulsing vigour, and prayed all the training meant she was ready. Knowing that the kick of adrenaline would eventually cause her fatigue, Fay concentrated on taking long, slow breaths. She was still giddy and shaking from the last fight, which would count heavily against her if she couldn’t control it.

The bravest, or stupidest, of the outlaws launched himself past the flames and his axe head smacked against Fay’s shield. She swung her mace down on his outstretched attacking arm, making him release the weapon, and shoved forwards with boosted strength. The man fell backwards through the fire, to be replaced by another. Cassandra intercepted him with a slice across his gut with her sword, the keen edge cutting through the inferior leather. Fay heard one of the mines to her right detonate, and spun to face the bandit sneaking around them. He was young, baby-faced and gangly, but the only mercy Fay could offer him was a blow to the head and a quick death.

The skirmish developed into a scrum. Fay clamped her teeth down on her tongue as a jab landed against her ribs, and grunted a pained growl before reciprocating in kind. She careened into the man with her shield, hearing him exhale with an ‘oof’, and her mace connected across his face. Cheekbone and nose shattered, his face caving inwards at the relium toughened blow, and the man crumpled to the ground. Another two down, she thought, but how many were left? Her vision was tunneling, and her reaction speed starting to suffer.

“Archers eliminated” Hawke updated.

Fay persisted on, trading blows with a grizzled, more experienced bandit who she couldn’t seem to feint or distract. One of Varric’s bolts embedded into his chest, and as the man’s scowl turned to astonishment, a second thudded home in his forehead. Fay scanned across the battlefield and spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at the dirt. Cassandra was with the last two- wait, no.

“Hawke, move!”

Hawke jumped aside, bringing his staff blade up and round to the bandit behind, but missed. Fay ran, colliding with the attacker to bring him down. They landed with the man trapped on his side underneath her, his fingers scrabbling to try and retrieve his weapon. With a fervid loathing, Fay bludgeoned at him until he went limp, and crawled over to where Hawke was laying. Fay gave a choked sob, throwing aside her shield and mace, and put her hand over the wound on his neck to try and stem the bleeding.

“I never- I never got to tell you” Hawke whispered to her with a sad smile.

“Mouse, what’s…? Fuck, this can’t be happening!” Varric cried in anguish.

“I don’t have any potions, and I can’t heal” Dorian said. “Fasta vass!”

Hawke weakly lifted his hand to put over hers, his heart beating erratically beneath her blood slicked palm. He couldn’t die- not Hawke, not like this. What was she supposed to do?

“Sweetheart” Hawke said, his fingers squeezing hers. “It was going to-”

“No. Don’t you say this was going to happen sooner or later, Hawke. I’m not letting you, do you hear me? I can’t… not you…” Fay put more pressure against the wound, glancing to each of her companions for help.

“I don’t know, Fay. I don’t think we can…”

Cassandra, having cleared the field of the remaining bandits, shook her head. She averted her gaze, full of regret, which showed to Fay that she felt Hawke’s fate was already set in stone. Fay looked over at Varric, who was crying and rocking on his knees hugging Bianca.

“Give me a dagger” she said to him.

“What are you-?”

“Please, Varric. There isn’t much time, please just give me a fucking dagger.”

The dwarf looked at her shocked, but complied by handing over one of his throwing daggers from the holster on his belt.

“I’m sorry, Cassandra. If there was any other choice… I can’t let Hawke die” Fay said, and cut across her palm.

Hawke’s eyes widened in realisation. “No, Fay” he pleaded, but Fay ignored him, switched hands on his neck so that her blood mingled with his.

“Fay, what are you doing?” Cassandra spluttered, “Blood magic? How? You can’t! It is forbidden for a reason…”

“I’m the fucking Inquisitor- I can, I will, and don’t you dare silence me, Cassandra” Fay threatened.

She closed her eyes and blocked everything else out, forming the intent of the spell and learning its sensation. Blood sacrifice was not one she had practiced in the fade- especially not adapting it to transfer the effect from caster to someone else. Solas had warned Fay that anything other than the hemorrhaging and wounding spells would pose a huge risk to her, as she was not a mage by conventional means. But, if she could save Hawke, Fay didn’t care. Solas wasn’t here to heal him, and she was the only one with a slim chance.

The energy draining from her tugged like an unraveling ball of yarn. Fay directed the thread to knit around the gash and revitalize Hawke’s own blood cells to aid with the repair. White blazed behind her eyelids, and Fay distantly heard herself let out a short, agonized squall.

“Fay, sweetheart, stop. It’s enough, you need to stop” Hawke said hoarsely. “You’ll kill yourself. Love, please…”

Wailing at the effort to cut the connection, and the pounding in her temples, Fay opened her eyes. The world remained white, and someone caught hold of her just as she collapsed.


	59. Chapter 59

Fay snuggled against the warmth encompassing her, arching her back and stretching her legs straight with a grumble at the cramping in her joints.

“You’re in big trouble, you know” said a familiar voice.

“When am I not?” she mumbled sleepily.

The sound of his chortle made Fay sit upright.

“You were- you’re…”

A thumb brushed at her chin, close to her lips, and the hairs of Hawke’s beard were surprisingly soft as he placed a kiss on her cheek.

“I’m still here, sweetheart, thanks to you. Your blindness is temporary, though Keeper Hawen is gathering roots for a tonic he thinks will help you recover quicker.”

Fay sighed, putting out her hand to try and get a mental visual of where she was. The muscles of Hawke’s abdomen went taut, and his skin was hot to her touch.

“You’re shirtless” she said.

“Sorry, it was stuffy in here and my clothes went for-”

“And I’m blind” Fay interrupted.

“Uh…”

“The Maker does have a terrible sense of humour” she accused, and smirked.

Hawke laughed, guiding her back down to lay with her head on his chest. An arm settled around her waist and with his free hand he lazily stroked at the back of her neck. Fay closed her eyes, not being able to see anyway, and gave Hawke an indistinct murmur of pleasure. If she were a cat, she would be purring.

“So, either I stumble around and bump into everything, or you tell me where we are?”

“Well, we apparently caused such a ruckus that the Dalish decided to investigate. They took some convincing, but you know Varric’s charm and golden way with words.” Hawke shrugged. “He explained what happened with Wisdom, appealing to the Dalish’s reverence for the spirits and the fade. They were strangely nonplussed about the blood magic once they saw that you hadn’t made a pact with a demon. Hawen called you foolish, but you have a fan in their clan apparently.”

“A fan?”

“A lad called Loranil. He wants to join the Inquisition after hearing news of your deeds.”

Fay shook her head in disbelief. “And what deeds would those be exactly?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Closing the breach for one. Facing Corypheus and surviving Haven for another. Sealing rifts, clearing bandits, Red Templars, Venatori, and helping people with food, trade…”

“A drop of water in an ocean, and it wasn’t just me.”

“Maybe not, but it’s because of your direction that these things happen. Keeper Hawen brought us back to their encampment across the river, and we have been given the honoured use of one of their aravels.”

“How long ago was that?”

“A few hours. Varric has gone with some of the hunters to see what they can catch for supper, I’m just hoping it’s not ‘water-pig’ things.”

“Cassandra-?”

“Ah, the Seeker. She has… calmed down. The Keeper has also assured her that you are passenger-free.”

“Blood magic doesn’t have to rely on demons, but you know that.”

“I- yes, I would” Hawke admitted, sounding sheepish. “You can understand why I didn’t want it to be common knowledge” he added.

Fay nodded. “People will always abhor something they don’t understand.”

She was going to have to expound her reasons for resorting to blood magic to the Seeker, and the other advisors on their return to Skyhold. But what were they going to do, considering everything else about their Inquisitor that they had kept quiet? It wasn’t as though Fay had acted out of spite, and it wasn’t a spell she planned to repeat. Solas would lecture her when he found out, but he’d have to join the queue after Cullen and Cassandra.

“You could have…” Hawke shifted, hugging her to him as if she was going to disappear. “Please promise me you won’t put yourself in danger like that again. I’m grateful to still be here, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t want you dying for me.”

“Hawke, I can’t promise that.”

“Agh, you’re stubborn” he griped.

“I’m thinking of adopting that as the motto for my life.”

Fay looked up at Hawke and swore at the white haze still obstructing her vision; she wanted to see his face, his smile.

“Do you call every woman ‘love’?” she asked him curiously.

“Of course not.”

“I-I have something to admit, that may explain some things about me. Several things, actually.”

“Fay, you don’t have to.”

“I do, Hawke. I’m just scared, because I’m not sure what you’ll think of me after this.”

She told him everything: Where she had come from, her life before- including details about her cancer and estranged husband, her lack of memory of how she arrived in Thedas, how she had become infected with red lyrium and discovered her mage-like abilities with Solas’ help, and her hope to somehow make it back to her daughter. Hawke continued to caress her hair, and as Fay’s confession came to an end, she listened to the bustle of the Dalish around their camp and the steady drumming of Hawke’s heartbeat.

“Sweetheart” he said finally, and Fay held her breath. “I will help you find your daughter, if I can.”

Hawke persistently stunned her with his unquestioning acceptance, dependability, and concern for her happiness. He was a buttress for her instability to lean on, munificent in his solicitude, her aegis.

“Hawke…”

“Hey, don’t cry.”

“If you help me, I’ll lose you too. It always happens, I’m cursed and-”

“Before, when I said that there was something I never got chance to tell you” he wiped at her tears, and she nodded in remembrance. “I’m not going anywhere, Fay, and this doesn’t change how much I care about you.”

“You can’t.”

“Can’t, what? Love you? Sweetheart, I’m the Champion of Kirkwall- I can, and I will” he stated with a smile in his voice.

Fay’s fingers tentatively found the raised scar on his neck, and she clumsily adjusted herself to sit across his lap. “I want normalcy” she said to him, “I’m just not sure I will ever be granted it.”

“Let me try to give you what you seek” Hawke implored, “on your terms.”

She ran her nails lightly up his chest, relishing the way he shivered. “Hawke?”

“Anything” he whispered, and Fay kissed him.


	60. Chapter 60

“Loranil will arrive next week, and I would like to repay Keeper Hawen’s hospitality with the supplies his clan needs to repair their remaining aravels.”

Josephine made a note and smiled at Fay, “I will handle that, Inquisitor. I must say that it is humbling to have the Dalish entrust one of their people to our cause.”

“You say he is a hunter, no? I could have him join my agents, a few would benefit from learning his skills for tracking and concealment.”

“Okay, Leliana. He would probably be safer there than out with our soldiers, and we don’t want to mar this budding allegiance with… an unfortunate accident or loss.”

“My thoughts exactly, especially with our appointment at the Winter Palace and a siege upon Adamant Fortress looming so near.”

“Iron Bull’s back at Skyhold?” Fay asked.

“Yes, he arrived two days ago with Stroud. They have been in discussions with Commander Cullen, but we must not shift our attention from preparations for the ball.”

“Don’t worry, Josephine. The Inquisition stands to make a whole nation of allies- soldiers and chevaliers that could march with us to Adamant - but there will be no hope of that if Empress Celene is assassinated.”

Josephine nodded, satisfied. “I already have some contractual agreements drafted to that effect.”

“Of course you do, Josie” Leliana tittered, “you are always one to see three steps ahead.”

Fay put her hand out to the war table to steady herself, and shuffled a few steps towards the blurry images of her spymaster and ambassador. Metal markers clinked, knocked from their places on the map and Fay cursed under her breath.

“Can we discuss the elephant in the room?”

“Elephant?” Josephine asked, looking around in confusion.

“Err, it means a big, obvious thing that everyone is trying to ignore and not talk about” Fay explained.

“Oh” the ambassador said, and then “Oh!”

“You saved the Champion of Kirkwall, a hero of the people, with the abilities at your disposal” Leliana said dismissively.

“That’s… well, that’s awfully sympathetic given that I could be called a blood mage.”

“I travelled with King Alistair during the blight- with a murderer, and assassin, and an apostate with no love for the Maker or the chantry. My own path did not start out of purity, but we are all the Maker’s children, and we cannot intuit His ambitions for us. The Maker gave you the powers normally twisted to evil, and placed His blessing upon you to turn them to do great good instead. Perhaps He is allowing us to tip the scales in this war, no?”

“Cassandra-”

“The Seeker has come to accept that what is done cannot be altered, and Cassandra is more versatile in her views than you maybe credit her for. Her anger at your use of blood magic, and for causing harm to yourself in this way has abated, though I would suggest not carrying out a similar feat in the future.”

“Trust me, I don’t plan on it. And Cullen? I assume he’s avoiding me, or he’d be here for this meeting.”

“It may be wise to speak with him in person.”

“Great, just… ugh. I guess I should have expected that. Alright, if we’re done here, then I suppose I should go and do just that.”

“Do you require assistance?” Josephine asked, offering out her arm for support.

“That’s kind, Josephine, but Hawke is waiting outside.”

“Very well. Until later. Don’t forget final outfit adjustments this afternoon.”

Fay listened to their footsteps retreating, the creak of hinges, and click of the latch on the jamb, before allowing herself to let out a long sigh of relief. That had gone better than she had expected. Fay turned to leave, and squeaked in surprise at seeing Cullen standing with his arms folded in front of the door.

“They were quick to overlook what you did, I take it.”

“Cullen…”

“No. You have no clue, no idea what you’ve done” he snarled, striding towards her with his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. “Blood magic?! For what- for _him_?”

“That’s unfair, Cullen. What was I supposed to do, let Hawke die?”

“Yes!” He bent down to glare at her, growling at seeing the milky film over her pupils. “Did you even give a second thought to what would happen to you, or the possibility of inviting a demon to possess you? Did you stop to think?”

“Yes, Cullen, I did.”

Cullen grabbed her wrist, “And his life was worth more than yours? You have a responsibility- you’re the Inquisitor, and-”

Fay tried to pull free, her mark reacting to her mixture of fear and anger at Cullen’s aggression.

“Responsibility, yes. Not one I asked for, and not one that I would take if given the choice. But here I am, still trying to do what is right in a fucked-up world I don’t understand for people that have become my friends. Back home, my daughter thinks her mother either abandoned her, or fucking died! But no, don’t concern yourself with that, Cullen. I have a Maker given duty, don’t I- to be your sacrificial lamb when _you_ say so. It doesn’t matter what I want, or how I feel.”

“That’s not what-”

“It obviously is what you mean, or you wouldn’t be here yelling at me about having a responsibility to this fucking organisation!”

Fay swivelled her wrist in his grasp, but still couldn’t get him to release her. She battened down her instinct was to use the relium; it would only make him worse. Where was Hawke? Had Cullen sent him away so that he could… could do what? Cullen wouldn’t hurt her. But, Fay hadn’t seen this level of contempt in him before to predict what he would do. Maybe he didn’t know either.

“You didn’t see the horrors I went through because of mages” he spat at her, “the screams of my Brothers being tortured, ripped limb from limb, and it was only a matter of time until I was next.”

“I’m sorry for what you went through, but it wasn’t me that did that to you” she argued.

“Maker’s breath, do you understand why I’m so annoyed?” Cullen asked. “Do you know-” he broke off, his head bowing to his chest and his eyes closing as he fought away the terrible memories plaguing him.

It dawned on her then that she had singlehandedly become the representation of everything he hated. Red lyrium and blood magic- the sands of their destinies slipping past each other on separate slopes and at incongruous velocities. Fay understood what it felt like to have love and hate in conflict, all too well.

Fay took hold of his other hand and held it flat against her chest. “Please, Cullen” she begged, “I’m still just me, and I _need_ you. I don’t want you to be against me, I couldn’t bear it.”

“Would you have done the same, if it had been me lying there?” he asked.

“What kind of question is that? You know I would.”

“Then you’re foolhardier than I thought.”

“Yes, you’re probably right. I’m bad at making decisions- I listen to my heart instead of my head in a lot of situations, and look where it gets me.”

Cullen let go of her wrist. “Why do we do this to each other?” he asked contritely. “Fay, I’m sorry, I was just…”

Fay tucked her head under his chin as he wrapped his arms around her. “We seem to have a knack of hurting each other without trying” she said. “But, if I could take everything that pains you away, I would do it.”

“Hawke was meant to protect you, not put you in jeopardy to bring him back.”

“He didn’t, Cullen. I made that decision, and he told me not to.”

“You love him, don’t you?”

“I- yes, I do, but you know I still care you for too.”

“Just not like that.”

“Does it have to be? Do I have to be sleeping with you to love and care for you? Are relationships between people always that black and white?”

Cullen shook his head. “No, I suppose not.”


	61. Chapter 61

Hawke paced nervously, waiting for Fay to return to her room. He hadn’t wanted to leave her alone with Cullen, but the commander had insisted that he wanted to talk to her about Inquisition business and that it didn’t concern him. Something niggled at Hawke that it wasn’t entirely the case, but he could hardly argue with him about it. Andraste’s ass, maybe he should go back down there and-

“Hawke? Is that you wearing a hole in my floorboards?”

“Fay! Are you alright? I was waiting, and then Cullen-”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I-I could do with a hug, and a glass of wine. Scratch that, a bottle of wine.”

Fay made her way up the stairs, cautiously keeping one hand on the bannister. Hawke waited at the top for her, almost hopping from one foot to the other, resisting the desire to help her- or simply pick her up and carry her the rest of the way. She wouldn’t thank him for coddling her, but it made his throat constrict at seeing her having to face any hardship.

“The hug I can do, as for the wine… Varric says Tiny’s back with Stroud, so we could go to the tavern if you feel like company? Oh, unless- well, shit, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s alright, Hawke. It can’t be much longer, right? If Solas was here I could ask him to fix this mess” she said, gesturing at her eyes.

“If Solas was here, you wouldn’t have gotten into this mess because of me in the first place.”

“It’s not his fault. Or yours.”

He looked down at her, and placed a kiss on her forehead. “They look better than earlier this morning.”

“Yeah, I’m getting blurry images now rather than complete white-out.” She smiled at him. “How about we have a glass or two together up here instead? I have a fitting with Pierre later… lucky me.”

“Ah, now you’re talking. The Inquisitor must have access to all sorts of special vintages that the rabble wouldn’t be allowed to even sniff at.”

“You sound like Dorian.” Fay nodded towards a small door beside the wardrobe. “Believe it or not, there’s a whole wall covered with wine racks in there.”

Hawke laughed, unconvinced, and left Fay sitting on the couch before going to investigate. He opened the cubby and exclaimed in surprise. “There really is! What on Thedas… You’re given all these to drink, as a personal stash?”

There had to be a hundred bottles or more, covered in a sheen of dust.

“I don’t spend enough time at Skyhold to actually drink them, until now... I should probably be worried that Josephine thought to have that many brought up here. Maybe she thinks I’m _a closet alcoholic_.”

Hawke groaned. “That… that’s a pun worthy of Varric.”

“Why, thank you.”

He scanned the rows of bottles and shook his head. Mother would be turning in her grave at his lack of decorousness- how many times had Leandra tried to teach him the correct cutlery to use for each dish, the wine to compliment every sort of meat, how to fold a napkin...

“How do I choose? I admit, as shocking as it is, that I’m no expert on wine.”

“And you think I am?” Fay giggled. “Red or white, dry or not. Aside from that… I don’t know, eenie meenie?”

“I’m going to guess that means just pick one.”

“You’d be right.”

Hawke snatched up a bottle and dusted it against his sleeve. “It’s… a red.”

“It’s a start.”

He found glasses on the bookshelf behind her desk, but couldn’t find a corkscrew- until he looked over to where Fay was lounging, with it twirling playfully in her fingers waiting for him to notice.

“Your room is nice, but it’s…”

“Cluttered and disorganized.”

Hawke took the corkscrew from her and opened the bottle. “Where was this anyway?”

“On top of the books on this sofa side table, just under those papers there, and beside the candlestick- where every normal person keeps them, silly” she said with a grin.

Hawke handed her a glass and settled back comfortably on the cushions. “You’re being cheery, which means Cullen didn’t just want to talk to you about ‘Inquisition matters’.”

Fay took a sip of her wine and pulled a face.

“Fuck, this is horrid” she said, “And is it that obvious?”

“It is to me.”

“Cullen… Cullen needed to vent. But, I think we’re alright now- as much as the two of us can be.”

“You two have history” he said carefully. “Together.”

He took a drink of his wine and coughed at the sour tartness. Part of him didn’t want to know; there was a male envy, an insecurity, at being compared to a warrior that women fawned over in the training yard.

“I told you of Andrew, of fifteen years seemingly wasted. I loved him, who he was. We had a home, our daughter, a standard suburban existence… Cullen had some of those same qualities I fell for in Andrew, and he was the first man to prove to me that I could be accepted as I am- to move past my inhibitions. I-I don’t suppose that makes much sense.”

“Actually, it does. But, you’re not- I mean… are you?”

“I care for Cullen, for what happens to him, and his wellbeing. In his way, he feels the same for me too. But, it’s thorny, and there are things shared in confidence that I cannot- will not - tell you about him. It wouldn’t be right.”

“These are things that divided you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you…” No, he couldn’t ask her that, it was egotistical.

“Do I see the same qualities in you?” Fay asked, tipping her head and trying to squint at him through the fog. She sighed, motioning to put down her glass and paused, worried about spilling it. Hawke took it from her and set both their glasses on the table.

“I shouldn’t have asked, it wasn’t what I promised when I said on your terms-”

“Hawke, it’s only natural that you would be wary.” She smiled, fisting her hands into his robes and yanking him to her. “You have all of those qualities…” Her lips were satin, and when they pulled apart she added breathily: “…and more.”

A rap on the door echoed from the stairway below. “Is ze Inquisiteur decent?” an overly heavy Orlesian accent called up to them.

Hawke grumbled, pressing his forehead to Fay’s. “Pierre, I assume.”

“I don’t think I’ll get away with pretending not to be here.”

“I’ll leave you to the fun, and the wine- which I agree is horrible, by the way. I’ll rescue you in an hour?”

“You better do.”


	62. Chapter 62

“Bravo, Inquisitor! The two of you are splendidly in tune with each other” Josephine praised, clapping her hands in girlish delight.

Hawke had only required a quick refresher from the ambassador before bowing with civility and guiding Fay with facile ease around the space cleared in Solas’ rotunda. As much as she disliked ballroom dancing, Fay did enjoy the finesse with which Hawke moved, the way his fingers gently flitted against the small of her back to direct her where to step next, and the provocative intimacy afforded by their dance.

“There will be carriages arriving at the twelfth bell tomorrow. I expect no delays, from _any_ of you” Josephine said in dismissal, and exited with Leliana to the main hall of the keep. Fay’s companions filtered out behind them, most heading for the Herald’s Rest and some to finish packing for the trip to Halamshiral.

“…do they have bees in Orlais?” she heard Sera ask.

“Buttercup, do you want the Nightingale to kill you?” Varric said.

“If she doesn’t, the Inquisitor might” Blackwall added.

Sera blew a raspberry. “Threaten me with the scary one to spoil my fun…”

“Which one do you mean?” Varric asked, sounding genuinely intrigued.

Sera’s reply was lost as the door swung to a close. Fay looked up at Hawke, who was sniggering at her open-mouthed exasperation at the rogue elf, and looped her arms around his waist.

“Bees. What is it with her and bees?”

“It’ll be fine, Varric will talk her out of… whatever daft notion she has.” Hawke kissed the top of her head affectionately. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?”

“Give me a few minutes, and then meet me at the stables.”

Generally, surprises were along the lines of: ‘Look, there’s another host of Red Templars coming to try and kill us.’ - Thedas was great like that, Fay thought sarcastically. But a nice surprise, how surprises were _meant_ to be? She wouldn’t turn that down, not after all the bullshit that had become par for the course. With an excited smile, Fay watched Hawke hurry away and tried to think what he could possibly have in store for her. Solas cleared his throat and she turned to him standing with his hands clasped behind his back, an eyebrow crooked at her in mirth.

“Do you want help putting your stuff back where it was?” Fay asked.

“Thank you, da’len. if you could just move the desk with me, I can do the rest myself.”

Fay took hold of one edge of the oak table and Solas took the other, and together they lifted it back to its spot on the rug in the middle of the room.

“That was heavier than it looked… I know I said it before, but I’m glad you came back, Solas.”

“You did not forsake me, da’len, and I avow to never forsake you” he said with gravity.

Solas was still grieving the loss of Wisdom, and Fay was mindful to give him the privacy he needed to come through the process. He was stoic, bottling away his deepest emotions to deal with in his own way; just as Fay had done so often herself- until recently. But, her friend was one of the most durable and abiding amongst them, and Solas was aware that if there was anything Fay could bestow upon him- Inquisition resources, or even just for her to listen to his dolour – then she would do it without hesitation.

His understanding of her nature was the main reason, she thought, that Solas had not lambasted her harshly about what she had done for Hawke. Solas educated Fay on the principles of speculative blood magic for precisely the plight she had been confronted with; an aid to preclude impuissance in a crisis. Her body, her rules- she would survive Thedas somehow, kicking and screaming if she had to.

Fay bid Solas farewell, leaving him to his tidying, and made her way down to the stables. She waved to Blackwall and Dennet, both of whom had taken up permanent residence in the barn with the horses, and found Hawke with his Forder saddled and ready. There was a linen covered basket strapped with the saddlebags, and two blanket rolls.

“Uh, Hawke… where are we going?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you now, would it?”

“But the ball-”

Hawke shook his head and laughed. “Will you stop worrying, just for a little while? We’re not going far, and I already cleared it with Josephine.”

His hand appeared from behind his back with a flourish, and he held out an exquisite aquamarine flower to her. Crystal Grace- Fay remembered those rare flowers from the Hinterlands, and they were almost impossible to find. She swallowed a small lump in her throat, knowing the effort Hawke must have gone through to procure or find one for her. She hadn’t been given flowers before, not even for anniversaries or Valentine’s day.

“Crystal Grace. It’s beautiful” she said thickly.

Hawke stepped forward to tuck the stem into the braid of her hair. Stroking down her cheek with the back of his fingers, he smiled at her. “Not as beautiful as your eyes, but it was the best I could do.”

Fay cupped his face and kissed him.

“Sweet talker.”

Hawke went pink across the bridge of his nose and the ridges of his cheekbones, and Fay realised that he was blushing.

“I don’t have a carriage, but I do have Oscar” he said. “Would you ride with me?”

Hawke boosted himself up onto the Forder’s back, and helped Fay up onto the saddle in front of him.

“You called your horse Oscar?”

“It seemed to suit him, though I don’t know why. What do you call yours?”

“Typhon. He isn’t always cooperative, but I think that’s because he knows I’m suspicious of him.”

She felt Hawke’s laughter rumble in his chest, and he nudged Oscar on out from the stable block.

“Suspicious?” he asked.

“Any animal that’s big enough to trample me under its hooves makes me heedful of its mood, or what it’s going to do next.”

“Ah, alright. So, he’s not the forehorse of a smuggling ring or anything.”

“If he is, he needs to start giving me a cut of his earnings.”

They waited for the soldiers to raise the portcullis gate, and Hawke clasped an arm around Fay’s stomach to secure her in her seat. Once clear of the bridge, Oscar cantered down the well trodden trail on the mountainside. The air had a nip, a fresh coolness that was invigorating, and it had been an age since she felt this trouble-free and buoyant.

“Nearly there” Hawke said as they came around to a fork in the path. He slowed Oscar to a trot, and they wove through rocks and boulders of ice until they made it to a bank of the frozen lake at the foot of Skyhold. Hawke had already prepared an area for them, clearing the snow and marking runes along the edges.

“You _have_ been busy” Fay said. She dropped down from the saddle and patted Oscar’s neck. The horse nosed at her hand and whinnied, though he was probably just happy at being unloaded and no longer having to carry two people on his back.

“He likes you- he’s definitely an Oscar, and not a Typhon” Hawke joked.

“No, he’s not a suspicious, head honcho type” Fay agreed, taking the blanket rolls from Hawke.

The runes created a heated bubble that alleviated the wintry cold. When the blankets were unfurled, stretched alongside each other on the ground, Fay took off her jacket and sat looking out at the frozen lake. The location was idyllic, secluded.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“A few people mentioned that you used to sit overlooking the frozen lake at Haven, that you went there to think and relax.” Hawke took the cover off the basket and there was a chink of glasses. “Don’t worry, I asked Dorian to recommend the wine.”

“I think anything would be better than that red.”

“You didn’t drink it, surely?”

“ _You_ didn’t spend an hour with Pierre.”

Hawke handed her a glass, and sat on the blanket beside her. “I also have sweet rolls, fruit, bread, and some cheese, which were relocated from the kitchens to my basket with the help of a certain spirit boy.”

“How long have you been planning this?”

“Since the Exalted Plains, before… well, you know.”

Her pulse was quivering erratically, a rapturous sensation and emotion sweeping over her. Fay recognised what it was, but hadn’t felt it to such an extent for any man before.

“Hawke.”

“Sweetheart?”

Her lips locked with his, and their tongues tagged at each other with light, teasing touches. Fay pulled away, and gazed into his eyes with an earnestness to emphasize what she was going to tell him.

“I love you” she said.

Hawke’s expression kindled with a vivid joy at having her reciprocate his own feelings. Before he could say anything, Fay pulled him into another kiss and felt her core ignite with a passion she wasn’t sure would resurface. But this was Hawke, not anyone else, and new memories they forged together would not be ones of abuse or disgrace. She was ready to grasp at happiness and cling to it; because one day there might not be a chance.

“I want you” she whispered, and Hawke gave a whimpering moan.

“Fay, I don’t want to rush you.”

“You’re not. I love you, and I want you. Here. Now. Please, Hawke” she murmured between kisses.

Hawke put their wine and the basket of food out of reach, before stripping off his jacket and kneeling on the blanket in front of her. One hand found the nape of her neck, the other her hip, and he ushered her to his lips, his tongue. Fay ran her palms over the fabric covering the defined muscles of his chest, humming in appreciation, and gave an impish chuckle as his nipples hardened. Hawke groaned, a note of eagerness harmonizing with her aching need. His heart was hammering, his breaths turning into lustful sighs. Fay moved the hand he had on her hip up to her chest; her heart was beating just as fast for him.

Their tongues curled and darted, fingers bumbling to find the hooks, buttons, and buckles to undo on their clothing. Hawke eased her down and lay beside her, propping himself up on his elbow to caress with his fingers along her neck, the scars on her chest, her stomach, her hips. He waited for her to take the lead in this dance, and Fay’s hand ghosted up his thigh to his groin. With his erection hot in her hand, she tugged the firm grip of her fingers around the sleek skin of his shaft and pumped it up and down. Hawke moaned her name, his responding touch to her clitoris sending a spark to her nerves and making her hips buck. His aura exuded a trickle of energy, and Fay couldn’t help but grin at him.

“Hawke…”

He looked down at her, eyes hooded and pupils dilated. “Love, did I do something wrong-?”

Fay put a finger to his reddened lips. “You’re using magic, aren’t you” she said, half-laughing and half-moaning as another wave of pleasure fired from the bundle he was skilfully manipulating and making her toes curl.

“Should I stop?”

“Fuck… no. Hawke...don’t stop.”

The pace of his ministrations increased, circling, rubbing, kneading. She matched his ravening motions, and Hawke’s throaty groans, his panting, made Fay tingle with erotic exhilaration. The electric stimulation of his fingers raised her up to a bursting discharge, and Fay cried out as she was unable to dampen down the intensity of the orgasm he brought her to so quickly. Hawke nuzzled at her neck, sucking gently at the pulse point there.

“That’s one” he said with a husky chuckle.

His erection throbbed, the engorged head carmine in her squeezing grasp.

“Fay… can I…?”

Fay brushed her lips close to his ear. “I want you” she repeated, “Hawke, please.”

Hawke coaxed her onto her side and pulled her uppermost leg up over his, spooning her and tilting her back against his torso.

“You’re so beautiful… so special…” he said as he leant over to kiss her.

Fay gasped at the bliss of him filling her from behind, the already tightened muscles gripping around him, and the angle of his thrust pushing against her g-spot. Hawke made love to her slowly, punctuating his thrusts with kissing, touching, and telling her how much she meant to him. The build up to her second climax was gradual, and when Hawke hardened on the brink of coming, he used his deft fingers on her once again. They came together. Fay’s chest flushed, her hips jerked, and she screamed out his name in unadulterated ecstasy. Hawke’s breathing hitched, the pounding of his heart irregular and wild, and he let out a primal growl of extolment.

“That was…”

“…the first of many?” Hawke asked with a naughty smile.

“I certainly hope so.”

“Fay, I love you. I’m not going anywhere, not for as long as you’ll have me.”


	63. Chapter 63

As they were unsure exactly what would happen at Empress Celene’s grand event, Leliana and Cullen had insisted that they prepare for the worst, and had employed Sera- with the help of Cole – to sneak in their weapons and armour past the guards. Fay had expended most of her relium during morning training with Fenris and Hawke, which allowed it to regenerate back to half by their arrival in the evening. Although not in the carriage with her, the Nightingale, the ambassador, or Hawke, Fay hadn’t wanted the effect of it to jar at Cullen. He was riding in close proximity, heading the procession of carriages and the mounted retinue with Cassandra.

“Please, remember all that I have schooled you with” Josephine said to Fay anxiously.

“Fay will be fine, Josie” Leliana soothed.

“I’ve got it, honestly. Reveal nothing about myself, or any member of the Inquisition, and dodge around questions with half-truths without causing offence. Be polite, and most of all… try not to make an arse of myself” Fay said as their carriage turned into the gate.

Hawke chuckled and squeezed her hand.

“I will see to it that she behaves, ambassador.”

Leliana smirked knowingly at the pair of them, and Josephine sighed in resignation.

“This is like Wicked Grace, but played to the death. Inquisitor, Champion, please… just be mindful of that, both of you. Everything hangs in the balance.”

The carriage rocked to a halt and Hawke helped Fay to tie the ribbon of her mask beneath her hair, which had been styled into a rope braid with volume at the crown and loose curls to frame her face.

“Shall we?” he asked, and opened the door for her.

The Inquisition masks were white, overlaid with gold swirling details, but Fay’s status was set apart from the rest of them with chantry suns fanning out above the temples on either side, small diamonds along the bridge of the nose and on the edges curving beneath her eyes. The outfits Pierre had tailored, under Vivienne’s strict instruction, were not as bad as her companions previously thought they would be: Double breasted, military style blazers in midnight blue, with trousers for the men and long, draping skirts for the women. The sash over the left shoulder joined to a cummerbund, and both were a matching, complimentary, white with golden embroidery finishes.

Duke Gaspard de Chalons was waiting for them to disembark, and nodded cordially to Hawke before taking Fay’s hand and bowing to kiss her knuckles. The chevalier, and cousin of the Empress, was the one from whom their invitations had been sent. The Duke wanted to incite doubts and discord amongst those in Celene’s court- to make a play for the throne that he felt was stolen from him. Walking in with the Inquisitor and Champion of Kirkwall at his side would do exactly that; not that Fay necessarily planned for them to ally with him further. They were here to find Corypheus’ servants and to save the Empress from any assassination plot in progress.

“Inquisitor. It is an honour to meet you at last” the Duke said. “Bringing the rebel mages into the ranks of your army was a brilliant move. Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais” he added.

Fay gave Gaspard a flattering smile, countering his blatant intimations with non-committal answers until his ego was sated enough to escort them into the grand hall. Shit, this was going to be a long night, Fay thought despondently.

“Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons” the court herald announced. “And accompanying him… The Inquisitor, Fay Tanner, Herald of Andraste, and Ser Garrett Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall.”

Fay and Hawke stepped forwards with Gaspard, curtseying and bowing respectively to the Empress up on the balcony. Celene waved them to approach her, and the three of them walked the length of the hall as Fay’s advisors and companions were introduced to the simpering nobles behind them. She almost lost her composure at Sera’s chosen pseudonym, a blasé ‘Her Ladyship, Mai Bhalsych of Corse’ ringing out with loud, precise clarity. Hawke gave a quiet, strangled cough, which luckily was lost to the hubbub of the crowd. Fay _was_ going to kill the meddling elf, it was official.

The Duke left the pair shortly after their brief audience with the Empress and his sister, Grand Duchess Florianne. Hawke and Fay were accosted by Leliana at the top of the stairway leading away from the central chamber, and the spymaster beckoned them to a corner to talk.

“So far, so good, no?” she said with an appeasing grin.

“Gaspard’s desperation makes me cringe, and his sister… I know everyone here is conducting themselves with some falsity, but I get the same feeling from her as I did Alexius.”

“You think she’s up to something?” Hawke asked Fay.

“I don’t know, the whole room could be up to something. I just… don’t like her.”

“Hmmm, she did have appalling shoes” Leliana said, as if that was somehow verification of Fay’s hunch. “There are rumours of an occult advisor, here at the palace, which you may wish to look into. However, the two of you together will not be inconspicuous in any enquiries or snooping. Hawke, you will act as a distraction here, and the commander will accompany Fay on a quick tour in the pretense of discussing a confidential Inquisition report.”

“Why him?” Hawke protested, “What if-”

“Do you really think Cullen would let anything happen to her?” Leliana rebutted.

“No, I suppose not” he said grudgingly.

“We are here for a reason, Hawke. Though I understand your _personal_ preference, we must do what has to be done, no?”

“Fine. Be careful, sweetheart. Promise me?”

“As much as I can do, Hawke” Fay said.

Cullen was standing at a doorway leading out to one of the balconies, scanning everyone in the room and trying to dissuade a nobleman from making his gushing, admiring advances towards him. Fay snorted at hearing the Orlesian say: ‘Like iron!’, and Cullen’s eyes widened at her in disbelief that the man had been so bold as to pinch his backside.

“Commander, there you are” she said, beaming at the salacious noble apologetically. “May I speak with you about this latest correspondence?”

“O-of course, Inquisitor.”

“The Inquisition never sleeps” she said with a small shrug, and the noble nodded in understanding.

“Thank you” Cullen muttered, “Maker, what is wrong with people?”

“Orlesians…” Fay reminded him, and he laughed.

“Alright, where are we going?”

“Well, I thought to myself: Who is most likely to know the ins and outs of the palace, and be privy to the Empress’ affairs?”

“And what conclusion did you make?”

“The little people of course- the servants. Besides, I have a bone or two to pick with Sera” Fay said.

They poked around, and gathered updates from her friends dotted around the palace grounds. None of them had concrete intel about an occult advisor, but some alarming gossip about servants going missing from the wing housing their quarters came to light.

“That’s where I need to go” Fay told Cullen, “will you have Cassandra, Dorian, Sera, and Cole meet me here, with our gear just in case?”

If there was an assassin through that door, she wanted stealth on her side with two rogues of her own.

“I should come with-”

“Cullen, if anything happens, I will have to use my abilities…” Fay said, and he scowled at her disapprovingly. “The relium” she clarified, “not _that._ Believe it or not, I don’t have a death wish, or resort to illicit measures just to torture you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I-I know, I’m sorry. Maker’s breath, that’s all I seem to say to you nowadays.”

“Cullen, you don’t need to” she assured him, “I comprehend these swings you have- now that I have a better understanding of the source. You haven’t lost the values that make you a good man.”

He nodded, taken aback, and then slipped his profession as Commander of the Inquisition back into place. Cullen saluted to her with his fist to his heart. “Be careful” he whispered, echoing Hawke’s concern, and hurried away to do as she’d asked.


	64. Chapter 64

Fay had returned to the ballroom on the second bell, and was swept into a dance by the Grand Duke’s sister. Hawke watched with admiration as Fay held herself with poise and refinement, not missing a step. Her ‘two left feet’ had been a comment made out of self-conscious bashfulness, but tonight she had full mastery over any reticence. She dominated the attention of every patrician at Celene’s court, and gave them no reason to doubt her authority as the figurehead of the Inquisition.

“Am I to understand that the Inquisitor’s partnership with the Champion of Kirkwall is more than just a political union?” the woman beside him asked.

Hawke smiled at the dowager. “Who can say” he answered.

“Ah, young love” she said with a longing sigh. “I should have liked to dance, but the Inquisitor has other dances to attend to, so it seems. Tell her to contact me, once this is over.”

“I shall do, your Grace.”

“Such manners! You remind me of my fourth husband, Maximillian. He swept me off my feet too, you know.” The woman nudged him and looked over at the dancefloor. “Go on then, young man, before someone else snaps her up.”

Hawke bowed, and strode over to wait on the sidelines near to where Fay had retreated in discussion with her advisors. Her flexing of the hand with the mark was the only outward sign that she was upset by something, but when Fay caught his gaze she smiled, and the impulsive action stopped. The hushed conversation became animated, with Josephine shaking her head and Leliana putting a hand on her shoulder. Fay eventually nodded in agreement with whatever had been decided, and the advisors returned to mingling with the crowd.

“Well, I should have known this would all turn to shit” Fay said, leaning with her back on the wall beside him.

“What’s going on?”

“I took Cassandra, Dorian, Sera, and Cole with me into the servant’s wing, and we were set upon by Venatori. Fucking Venatori, here- at the Winter Palace! They’re like cockroaches, just more disgusting. Anyway, there is an obvious ploy to incriminate Duke Gaspard, though I’m not convinced that he’s being entirely snow white in this whole proceeding. After a run-in with Briala, who isn’t supposed to be here by the way, the Grand Duchess has just given me a tip-off that’s probably a trap.”

“You’re not going, are you?” he objected.

“Hawke, I have to. We need evidence of who’s at the bottom of all this, and I’m not going to get that standing around in here with my thumb up my… never mind.”

Fay twirled a curled strand of her hair in her fingers, her blue eyes studying him from beneath her mask.

“Love, I said to be careful, not rush headlong into an ambush” he said worriedly.

“I won’t be going alone, and knowing to be cautious is half the battle won already, right? I’m just at a bit of a loss: Leliana and Cullen are now suggesting it might not matter if Celene dies, so long as someone is left to take charge- whether that’s Gaspard, his sister, or even Briala. We came here with a plan, and now… well, they’re putting the future of an entire nation on me.”

What good was it to have advisors if they didn’t make the tough calls, Hawke thought in a flash of irritation. Did they just want to secure themselves a scapegoat if anything erupted like gaatlok in their faces? Fay smiled at a passerby, and deeming the coast clear, stretched up onto her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

“I have to go, there’s less than an hour until the bell for the next dance. You don’t know how hard it is to change in and out of this outfit in a hurry.”

Hawke looked her up and down. “Well, you look irresistible” he said brazenly. “Is there anything I need to know before you slip away again?”  

“Hmm, three more that I can think of: One, I can see why Alistair isn’t keen on Morrigan. She’s the occult advisor that Leliana mentioned, because of course it would be her- of all the people in Thedas. Two, my mark is acting up, which only normally means I’m really upset or there’s a rift nearby, oh, and three, Orlais can go and procreate with itself once we’re done here.” She sighed. “The third, I feel, is the most pertinent.”

“Morrigan? And a rift- are you sure?”

“Morrigan… it’s a long story. The rift? I have no clue, why would there be one here? But then, given how things are turning out, it wouldn’t shock me.”

Then she was gone, and Hawke was left to ponder their prospects after the Inquisition was concluded. He had his family estate in High Town, supervised by Aveline – a perk of having a friend as the Captain of the Guard – and plenty of sovereigns safely stashed away. But he didn’t see himself or Fenris returning to Kirkwall for any extended stay. ‘Champion’ afforded him contacts and perks, but to find Fay’s daughter on another plane and bring her here? Tevinter could hold answers, and Dorian already pledged to Hawke that he would assist, but for how long would the Inquisition keep Fay shackled- years?

“Hawke, you look how I feel” Varric said, downing his drink and handing his glass to a steward.

“Something amiss, my dwarven friend?”

“Oh, just some Carta I’m doing my best to avoid” Varric said, shrugging with indifference. “I passed Mouse, is she alright? I expected the two of you to be grinning from ear to ear after-”

“Not a word about that” Hawke warned.

He hadn’t told Varric about the marvellous upturn in his relationship with Fay, but the dwarf could read him like one of his third-rate novels. Hawke had awoken this morning in her bed instead of cramped on the coach, and she was curled in his arms. Hawke didn’t think his elation could ever be surpassed; he wanted that feeling every day.

“When will this be over, Varric? They make so many demands of Fay, obligations for this crusade, and I don’t see any denouement.”

The dowager wiggled her fingers in a wave at him from across the room, wafting herself with an ornamental folding fan.

“I get it, Hawke, but Fay has us to look out for her. Andraste’s ass… we’ll run if we have to.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that” he said. “Besides, I’m not sure your stubby legs would keep up.”

Varric gave him a sly grin and plucked a leather-bound wager book from the back pocket of his trousers.

“No, no, no” Hawke said, “I am _not_ betting on that” and they both laughed.

“Whatever it takes, Hawke. Just let me know what you need” the dwarf said in seriousness.

The bell tolled for the next dance- an hour gone by already? Hawke scrutinized the people around the lobby, expecting to see Fay, but caught sight of Leliana furtively passing a note to Cullen as she passed him. The commander turned away to read it, and a fist curled at the warrior’s side.


	65. Chapter 65

Fay stepped through into the quadrangle, seeing ripples of emerald light undulating across the alcove walls ahead, and jumped at the slamming of the door behind her. A Venatori soldier threw his weight into pushing against it, holding it closed, whilst another quickly turned the key in the lock. The door juddered at Cassandra’s shield bashes and kicks from the other side, the Seeker’s shouts and grunts of exertion muffled through the wood.

With a grinding scrape of stone over stone, a decorative marble urn was manhandled over from a nearby nook, and Cassandra, Dorian, and Sera were barricaded in the annex of the royal wing by her adversaries. Florianne leered down at her from the balcony overlooking the rift, and Fay called to the only one of her companions who could still be summoned.

_Cole, I need you._

“Panicked, she cannot fight alone. Get help! But, you are not alone” the spirit said, daggers held drawn in his wonted reverse grip and ready to strike.

_Say nothing,_ she thought as a precaution, though Florianne gave no indication that she could see or hear him.

The rim of the spirit boy’s hat flopped as he gave Fay an affirmative nod.

“Your Grace. If you desired another dance so much, you only had to ask” Fay said, sidling around the sputtering green aperture hovering in the middle of the square.

“It saddens me, Inquisitor. I almost hoped you might have more intelligence than to fall for such an obviously laid trap” Florianne answered with a patronizing tone.

“If I may be so bold: The same could be said of yourself, your Grace. Corypheus may have made a multitude of tempting propositions, but for you not to see that ultimately they will all amount to nothing…?”

The accusation predictably stoked Florianne’s hubris, and gave Fay the scope to consider her limited options. She only partially listened to the woman’s justification for working with Corypheus: The Grand Duke’s sister would supposedly become a queen by the monster’s decree, and as Fay was standing in the way of that, Florianne would soon see the issue rectified. For those who opposing darkness, there were just as many offering themselves to it freely- Fay had seen that at every turn in this topsy-turvy world since waking up with the anchor branded on her palm.

_You need to tell them Gaspard’s sister is the assassin, Cole. The only way I can stop these Ventori, and close the rift, is to use the mark’s energy. But, it’s been storing it since Crestwood and I don’t know if it will be safe for you here when I do. Find the Nightingale and tell her- do you understand? You must go. Now._

Cole departed in a blink, her message received. Good, there was a chance at least to stop the Empress from getting a knife to the back, Fay thought. As for herself… the odds were not so good, unless this worked as she hoped. Her relium was exhausted, and her body too fragile to use blood magic, so it was the only defence she had left. Fay took a deep breath, trying to blot out everything except the connection of her anchor to the fade. The spellbinders and gladiators formed a ring around her as the first terror to come through the rift screeched.

Fay awoke laying on the ground, her left hand outstretched to where the rift had been floating. She wasn’t dead, which was a good sign, though she couldn’t move, which was less-so. Slowly Fay took in the sight of the slits and punctures through the front of her armour, where the terror had latched on just as she established her own breach. The mark had quaffed the Venatori and demons, but the trauma of such an immediate expenditure had left her debilitated.

There was a banging, then a dull crash followed by a shout of: “There!”

Cullen’s greaves came into view.

“Is she alright?” Cassandra asked.

Fay looked up at Cullen in disorientation as pressure was applied to the clawed injury across her stomach. What was he doing _here_? She had sent Cole to warn them about Florianne, but if Cullen wasn’t in the hall to apprehend her…

“I don’t think it’s that deep” he reassured the Seeker.

“Thank the Maker.”

“You should be in the ballroom” Fay said, her voice slurred.

“I came as soon as Leliana got Sera’s message. Dorian went to fetch Solas” Cullen said to her. “He’ll be here soon.”

Sera’s message? That wasn’t right.

“No. I sent Cole…”

“What is the Inquisitor saying, commander?”

“That she sent Cole, and not Sera? I’m not sure how it matters.”

“Please… Cullen. I sent Cole… Florianne. She’s the one-”

Raucous screaming from the Winter Palace interjected Fay’s attempt of elucidating her point to Cullen about the Grand Duke’s sister.

“What in the Maker’s name…?”

The noise could only signify one thing: The Empress was dead. Seeds of Corypheus’ chaos had been sown despite their efforts, and the Inquisitions only hope to restore peace now resided with Gaspard- assuming that he was still alive. But, what if Florianne didn’t stop with just Celene? There were many key officials attending the masquerade for the talks, people who would take issue with Florianne muscling her way onto the throne by assassinating Celene in front of them.

“Too late… Gaspard, he must survive this” she said to Cullen.

Fay tried to sit up, and sank back onto the ground with a feeble groan; she was still as weak as a newborn. Should have sent Cole after Florianne, instead of being concerned about lawful conduct and reputation, she berated herself. Her advisors would have convinced Celene to release her if the Empress hadn’t believed Fay’s accusation.

“Commander?”

“Go to the hall” Cullen said to Cassandra. “Gather the soldiers, and protect Gaspard. I think Florianne has just been responsible for the Empress’ death.”

Cassandra gave a startled grunt and rushed away.

“Where’s Hawke?” Fay asked.

Cullen’s brow furrowed, and he ground his teeth together before giving a curt reply.

“Don’t concern yourself, I’m sure he will be fine.”

She had left Hawke in the ballroom, and with neither Cassandra or Cullen there- to face an inconclusive number of Venatori still under Florianne’s instruction – he was in grave danger. Dorian and Solas were on their way to Fay, leaving Sera and Varric as his only backup. Hawke may be a veteran fighter, but against so many…

“Help him. Cullen, please.”

“What if the Venatori come back here? Or Florianne? You can’t even get up, Fay. It’s out of the question.”

Where was Cole?

“I’m here. I can watch, wait” the boy said as he reappeared, his daggers now coated with a crimson varnish. “The Venatori are hurting people. They were already scared. Mourning. The Empress… her last thoughts of soft cinnamon.”

The screams and petrified shouts of Orlesian noble men and women rolled on through the night like thunder.

“This is ridiculous. Once more you’d put that mage before your own safety? After everything that has been said? No. I refuse.”

_Cole, it’s too much effort to put into words… Innocents are dying, and I expect the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces to do what is needed where I cannot. If Gaspard dies too, Corypheus really has won._

Cullen growled at Cole as he passed on Fay’s comment.

“Maker spare me from overbearing women. Have it your way, Inquisitor.” He pointed down at Fay as he rose to his feet. “If anything happens to her…” Cullen said intimidatingly, and the boy nodded solemnly.

“Fay will be safe. She wants you to be safe too.”


	66. Chapter 66

Fay slumped against the railings of the balcony, reviewing all that had occurred during the past few hours. Their ploy to save Celene had failed, but at least Orlais would not fall to mayhem from the Winter Palace’s night of madness.

Half a dozen Orlesians had been killed by the Venatori before undercover members of the Inquisition had gotten inside the main hall, and one of Leliana’s scouts had taken a throwing knife to the chest mere seconds after opening the double doors for his team of agents. The man seemingly hadn’t even registered what hit him- Shepherd’s face had been smoothed by serenity, sleep, and not distorted in any pain or suffering. The agent had no known family left after the fifth blight, another blessing in a sense, and would be taken back to Skyhold for burial. His body was to be interred beside the pavilion in the garden; Fay had seen him there on occasion, reading or watching the ravens.

Hawke- with Cullen’s aid – had chased Florianne outside, separating the Grand Duchess from her men and limiting the damage the assassin could unleash upon any other innocent bystanders. Gaspard’s sister had refused to surrender, obdurate in her scorn, and the men were given no other option than to collaborate once more, something they hadn’t done since the showdown in Kirkwall, and put an end to Florianne’s tawdry life.

As they were containing the area, Fay had changed back into her formal outfit. She was healed and rejuvenated enough to make an announcement on behalf of the Inquisition to the scandalized nobles. The newly appointed Emperor Gaspard stood as her sponsor, his chest puffed out in superiority at Fay’s side. He was not a man of diplomatic arbitration, but for now it served them well to have his gratitude- and militia - in lieu of Celene’s vacillating sanction of the Inquisition.

The Emperor pledged to Fay the assistance of his chevaliers, and urged his countrymen to answer the Inquisition’s call for resources or arms wherever it was needed in the war against Corypheus. Gaspard also insisted that Morrigan joined them at Skyhold, a decision to which the mage courteously agreed and surprisingly brooked no arguments against. There was something about Morrigan that made Fay nervous, but they could hardly afford to be picky about their allies.

“Inquisiteur?”

A steward bowed his head to her, a silver tray balanced on his arm with a fluted glass of wine.

“Thank you” Fay said, thankful the royal servant didn’t outstay his welcome once she took the drink from him. She didn’t think she had it in her to make any small-talk, or nod and agree to more pretentious preening.  

Fay had asked Solas and Hawke to get an idea as to the arcane help Morrigan could provide them, and was waiting for her handsome mage to join her once their discussions were finished. The masquerade was back in full swing, even after all that happened, and Fay had snuck away from the sham festivities. She missed the dirt and graft of Ferelden people, a more wholesome neighborhood in comparison, regardless of their problems.

“Can we talk?”

Fay took an unladylike chug of her wine, and looked over at Cullen standing in the doorway. He looked worn out, ready for the excursion to be over as much as she was.

“Of course, Cullen, though I already know what this talk is going to be about” she said. “I’m sorry that I had Cole be so harsh to you earlier, on my behalf. It wasn’t fair. Forgive me?”

He frowned, and then nodded. “Looking back, it was perhaps needed. I thought you were-”

“Just thinking of Hawke” she finished for him. “I admit, I was worried, of course. But Florianne… I couldn’t stop her and any advantage we had evaporated instantaneously. People were dying. When you said that you wouldn’t leave me to help him, I-I had to make you see.”

Fay drained the last of the wine and put the glass down on the patio table, turning back to look out over the meticulously pruned hedge maze below. It was absurd, but the neat orderliness angered her. There wasn’t a single leaf astray. Fuck Orlais and its superficial primping.

“Nothing ever goes right where I’m involved” Fay reflected.

There were the strains of the string orchestra’s sedate melody from inside, the start of one of the few slow dances that Fay knew signified the end of this whole maelstrom of an event. Finally.

“Hey, that’s not true” Cullen said, joining her at the railing. “We still dealt a massive blow to Corypheus as intended, and with Gaspard’s chevaliers there will be enough able soldiers for us to make our next move: Adamant Fortress. Fay, you always do what you can to help us- not just the Inquisition, but all of us. I should remember that.”

“It doesn’t matter, whatever _I_ do doesn’t matter. Celene died. In front of her courtiers and all of her advocates.”

“We knew it was a possibility.”

“But it doesn’t blunt the sting. So, you’re not still pissed at me then?”

“Maker’s breath, no. I was worried about you tonight. I was…”

Fay let the word go unsaid between them. Pointing out his jealousy would be an unkind barb, one that didn’t need inflicting. Cullen had dropped everything when he knew she was in trouble, fortifying the veneration Fay had for his integrity. Her relationship with Hawke had not been broadcasted, but it wasn’t exactly a secret either. Fay didn’t want Cullen to feel snubbed, though after all that was- and had been - between them, it was sadly unavoidable.

“Would you dance with me?” Cullen asked.

She took his offered hand with a smile. “I didn’t think you danced?”

“Templar balls are not grandiose affairs like this, but I attended a couple as Meredith’s second.”

Fay relaxed into the gentle swaying of the steps in which Cullen led her, and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

“I see you kept that quiet from a certain ambassador” she said, suppressing a yawn.

“She knows. But, Josephine also knows that there are some things I draw the line at participating in.”

“Oh. Cullen, you didn’t have to feel obliged to-”

“I didn’t.”

Fay gave him a pleased ‘hmm’ and closed her eyes, though she couldn’t enjoy their dance for long. She was suddenly feeling feverously hot, and there was an acute cramp beginning in the pit of her belly that made her want to be sick. Picking up on something troubling her, Cullen stopped and tightened his arms around Fay to steady her.

“Fay?”

“Shit, I think… I think there was something in that drink” she said.

Cullen looked down at her, flustered. “What?!”

The steward that served her the wine must have been one of the Venatori infiltrators, or someone paid by Florianne to slip Fay a drug, or poison, if things didn’t go the way they wanted it to. Leliana had told them all to be careful, but Fay had thought they had weeded out all the asps hiding in the grass.

“One day, I won’t have everyone trying to kill me…”

She couldn’t lock her knees to prevent them turning to jelly, and Cullen eased her down to the floor. Fay pulled at his jacket, her dread increasing.

“Don’t leave me… please…”

She was shaking, her teeth clacking together. It was difficult to think straight through the scorching pain.

“Do you trust me?”

“Always” Fay answered.

“Then trust me now. I’m going to be right back.”

Fay curled up in the fetal position and revolved on the hub of a dizzying umbra. She felt a magic energy touch her aura that she knew to be Solas, and later opened her eyes as Hawke picked her up off the chilly tiles.

“…I can carry her without dropping her, Cullen” he said curtly.

Cullen huffed a surrendering sigh close by. “I know” he said, “and Fay- she will want you with her. I will stand watch outside the room the emperor has assigned, though Leliana is confident the man she has in custody is the one...”

“Is the one who tried to kill her! Cullen, he’d better pay for this” Hawke hurled back.

Her eyes had shut again, and Fay was too weary to try and prise them open. But, she could sense Hawke examining her as she drowsed.

“The Nightingale will see to it that he sings before taking his place at the Grand Duchess’ side” Cullen vowed.    


	67. Chapter 67

Fay’s fingertips tracing along the knotty scar beneath his navel, where the Arishok’s brand had cleaved into him during their duel over Isabela, roused Hawke from sleep. Fay still looked groggy, her skin pallid, but she was alive. Hawke didn’t like to admit it, but the ex-Templar had saved her by getting Solas so quickly. It should have been him, Hawke thought, he was meant to be his love's guardian- not Cullen. But Fay was here with him now, which was all that mattered, and they would get into a carriage at noon to go back to Skyhold together. Far away from this Maker forsaken province of assassins and conniving puppets.

“Morning?” she asked.

The heavy drapes covering the windows blocked out all but a slither of light, and left the room in a dimness of perpetual dusk. Hawke had heard the chirp of the dawn chorus before he had slipped into sleep, having spent an anxious night checking on Fay. Solas had purged her system of the poison, but after she had fainted in the courtyard after closing the rift, Hawke wasn’t going to take assurances about her health at face value.

“Yes, sweetheart. It’s morning” he said.

“Alright, so I made it through the night. That’s a good start.”

Fay meant to lighten his mood, but her joke didn’t amuse him. There was a firestorm inside of Hawke, feeding off a heightening certainty that something was going to divide the two of them. The feeling wouldn’t extinguish, and he also couldn’t bring it under any semblance of control as it continued to multiply and spread. He’d been thinking, perhaps too much, and was at a crossroads in his mind.

Since Hawke had met Fay there were too many counts of her standing on the ledge of a precipice, from which there would be no return if she dropped off the side. Fay had even endangered herself with blood magic to save him, unheeding of his admonition for setting aside her own self-preservation; Hawke desperately feared for how things were escalating. Fay was important, needed, and loved. Maker, how he loved her.

“Please, Fay, don’t. You nearly… again!” Hawke closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to check his rancor. “Leliana and Cullen shouldn’t be sending you to Adamant. They’re putting you into the midst of a siege- a war! Have they even thought this through?”

Fay just nodded, her fingers trailing up his ribs and making him shiver. She understood him well enough to know that his temper wasn’t directed at her; Hawke just didn’t like the current circumstances of hours stretching in consternation. They brought back memories of Kirkwall, of Templars breathing down his neck. Hawke was scared, as much as he had been all those years ago with the Gallows looming and Carver ready to hand him in to the chantry’s unmerciful watchdogs.

“Where there are demons, there are rifts, and I’m the only one that can close them. And if I didn’t? What would it do to the Inquisition if I didn’t stand shoulder to shoulder with our soldiers?” she said after a few minutes of contemplative silence.

“Andraste’s ass. I don’t care. This is about you, Fay.”

“Hawke, every day could be our last” she said. “A crappy saying, though it does contain some truth. But you feel it as well, don’t you? Something waiting.”

Hawke licked his lips, his throat dry. He didn’t want to answer Fay’s question, but he would never lie to her.

“I- yes, I do” he said and ruffled his beard.

“Then I need you to be strong, because I’m doing this for thousands of people looking to me as the wielder of this key on my hand; for my friends, and for _you_. But, I don’t know if I can do it without someone telling me that everything is going to be alright.”

“Fay…”

“Please tell me it’s going to be okay” she whispered.

“I will do everything within my power to make sure it is” Hawke said, cementing his promise with a kiss.

Leisurely explorations of their fingers and lips progressed to making love in the four-poster bed of the Emperor’s guest suite. Every caress, and each stroke that brought her to satisfaction before him, was Hawke’s way of showing Fay exactly how much she meant to him where words wouldn’t suffice.

Afterwards they dozed, content in the suspension of their responsibilities and savouring being just Fay and Hawke- not the Inquisitor or the Champion. A short moment excluding the rest of Thedas from their lives, which was eventually interrupted by a rap on the door.

“Inquisitor, the carriage arrives soon” Josephine called through to them.

Fay huffed and sat up. “I have to make myself presentable and say farewell to Gaspard. I’m looking forward to getting out of Orlais.”

“Agreed, though it means we’re back to unpleasant reality.”

“It won’t always be this way. At least, I have to believe that’s the case” Fay said.

Hawke watched her dress, and flung his arms up over his face when she threw a cushion at him.

“Alright, I’m getting up” he said with a laugh. “Just, come here for a second, will you?”

“Hawke…”

“Please. There’s something I want to give you.”

She raised an eyebrow at him dubiously, but sat down on the bed. Hawke leant over to retrieve his trousers from the floor and searched through the pockets, giving an ‘Aha!’ when he found what he was looking for.

“Hold out your hand” he said, and turned the outstretched hand to face palm downwards so he could slip the ring onto her middle finger.

“What’s this?” she asked, studying the Amell family crest painted onto the enamel.

“It’s the coat of arms for my family, on my mother’s side. I’ve carried it with me since Kirkwall. It was one of the last items left in the estate of our lineage, before Carver and I reclaimed it from the slavers. I… this will probably sound silly, but I want you to be a part of my family, Fay, and maybe when this is over…” Hawke tapped the knuckle of her ring finger on the left hand, “we can move the ring to this one?”

Fay stared at him in shock, and Hawke felt his body burn with a nervous energy.

“Did you just-?”

“I- erm- I guess?” He coughed, knowing that he was now bright red. “There’s no pressure, I wouldn’t ever want you to feel uncomfortable, or... But, I love you Fay, and-”

“Oh, Hawke. I hope I can hold you to that in the future” she said, and circled her arms around his neck.

“Is that a maybe?” he asked optimistically.

Fay laughed and kissed him. “It’s a definite maybe” she said.

Hawke was buoyant, and couldn’t help a broad grin as he heard Fay stammer an embarrassed ‘Good morning, Cullen” as she left the room and the door shut behind her. He didn’t care if Curly had heard all their goings on. Fay had confirmed that she wanted a life with him in it, and Hawke was overjoyed. No more would he blindly obey the Inquisition’s advisors. When he had done as Leliana ordered and stayed away from Fay’s side, she had been left compromised and nearly killed. Hawke would not leave her fate down to them, he refused. And, if after Corypheus was dealt with, they would not let her leave… Well, he had plans for that too.


	68. Chapter 68

“Are you well, da’len?”

Fay held out Rebecca’s journal to Solas. “I wondered, would you… could you put this somewhere safe?”

There were only a few blank spots left in the book for her sketches, and by now she had captured everyone within the pages- from her advisors, to the soldiers drilling every morning under Rylen’s instruction in the courtyard of Skyhold beneath her balcony. But, there was something telling Fay that she may not get an opportunity to finish her work, and she didn’t want it to be lost or overlooked. It was the fraying tether to her daughter, and it meant a great deal sentimentally.

“Of course, my friend. I know of a memory, a great library in the fade. There it would be preserved for all time.”

“Thank you, Solas. And the physical copy?”

“There is a study beneath the ambassador’s office, I can tuck it away in there until our return from Adamant.”

“Right… yeah.”

Solas took the journal from her shaky hands and placed it on top of some other tomes on his desk, tipping his head at his chair and offering for Fay to sit. A rare privilege- she couldn’t recall ever sitting at Solas’ desk before. It was the nucleus for the elven mage’s studies, his refuge in the crowded castle.

“You are concerned about Adamant” he said, linking his hands behind his back.

“Of course. Orlais was a monumental cock-up, Celene died and now a militarist sits on the throne. I have one final shot at preventing the future I saw with Dorian at Redcliffe. A demon army, led by Grey Wardens, entrenched in a fortress… These abilities I have, they may not be enough and I’m still not a seasoned fighter.”

“Fay, your conservation is paramount. The Inquisition will-”

“The Inquisition will die, for me.”

Solas nodded. “If that is what it takes. Our volunteers are aware when they sign up, and still they have sworn themselves to you. I know this is a troubling notion, but this is warfare, da’len.”

“I might let them down, again.”

“You have not let anyone down, Fay. Think of all you have been through, where you came from. Yet, you dust yourself off and push onwards. No-one could ask anything more, and they would not be in their right to do so. If they do…” Solas gave Fay one of his infrequent smiles, “you send them to me.”

Fay laughed, and the hint of a tempest in his grey eyes made her certain that the elf was deadly serious about that.

“Can I ask for your counsel?” she asked, admiring the fresco on the opposite wall. It was a depiction of Redcliffe, Alexius’ robes unmistakable with the coiling serpent design that seemed to adorn everything from Tevinter.

“Of course, da’len. That is one of the reasons I am here.”

“I would not presume, Solas, but thank you. I-I find myself not knowing the best thing to do about the Wardens, actually. The advisors are leaving the deciding vote to me, as the Inquisitor. But, ugh...”

“What is your initial thought?”

“That it’s too dangerous to have them remain in Orlais or Ferelden, at least for the moment. If they can be swayed by Corypheus this easily, then they are a threat until the magister is defeated. But Blackwall will give me those puppy-dog eyes, and I’ll feel bad that he’ll take it as a slur against his own character, when it isn’t that at all.”

“A wise decision, the Wardens are indeed acting irrationally. As for the feelings of one man in relation to the course of action for the good of so many…”

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Yes, we have a similar saying. It doesn’t make it more palatable.”

“It often never does” Solas agreed obscurely.

Fay decided not to probe further, if Solas wanted to reveal his past experiences relative to their discussion then he would do so. The elf was her friend, and she would not be officious for the sake of curiosity.

“Okay. In a vertical line of thinking, I was going to take Blackwall with us. I figured he might be able to appeal to some of the Wardens and get them to see sense.”

“It cannot hurt, but I would not rely on it.”

“Every little helps, right?”

“Indeed. How are the preparations advancing?” he queried.

“The date was set in the meeting this morning. We march in three days.”

“Ah. Hence your presentiment of whatever lies in store.”

Fay closed her eyes. “I-I’ve been having a recurring dream, which is becoming harder to reject, even with use of the techniques you’ve shown to me.”

She heard a shuffle and Solas’ hand rested on her shoulder. “What is the dream about?”

“Fire” Fay said, and looked up at him in disquiet.

The nightmare had started before the Winter Palace, but since returning to Skyhold Fay now had it every night. Her house, filled with billowing smoke, flames barring her way down the stairs, the heat of the floorboards under her feet…  

“You have not told Hawke of this?”

“No. I don’t want him worrying about me more than he is doing. I can’t help linking it to something from before. But, that’s crazy because even with my amnesia or whatever it is that means I can’t recall how I ended up here, you’d think I’d remember that.”

“You think you may have died?”

Fay propped her elbow on the desk and rested her chin, sighing in frustration. “I don’t know, but if I did would it at least make sense of how I was able to pass through the fade?”

Solas patted her shoulder sympathetically. “It would, da’len, and I will admit it is something I have considered as a possibility.”

“I just wish I could remember, to know one way or the other. To be sure-”

“If you will see Rebecca again? You already know my caution in that regard, da’len. Though, we will discover the truth.”

“Maybe” she said doubtfully. “It’s not something I can afford to focus on until after Adamant.”

Solas nodded. “Very well. If you wish, we could do reinforce your training in the fade over the next few nights.”

“Given the seriousness of what we could face, that’s a good idea. Thank you, Solas.”


	69. Chapter 69

Fay had known that most of the Inquisition’s troops were not actually garrisoned inside Skyhold- there wasn’t enough room to house them all within the walls – but instead they occupied a vast field encampment of tents and temporary wooden shelters. Rylen visited them once or twice a day, and would report back requirements for healers, resources, or advanced training. Soldiers who were to be deployed out into the field at Inquisition camps, or to support Leliana’s agents for various tasks, were brought to the fortress for comprehensive instruction under the commander’s watchful eye.

The soldiers’ camp was based at the foot of the mountainside leading up to Skyhold, in a nook off the main path. Fay had not comprehended the scale until now- of just how many people had joined the Inquisition’s cause. Surrounded by tents and banners she felt inconsequential, and regretful that some of these people would not be returning to their families. Because of her, and because of the anchor.

“Sweetheart, let’s unwind with our motley crew, shall we?”

Hawke directed her away from the advisors’ operations and planning tent, through the awed, saluting soldiers, and Fay walked past the men and women of all ages with her chin held high. Keeping up appearances- Josephine would be proud, Fay thought tetchily. It was only when they reached the fireside where Varric, Dorian, Blackwall, and Fenris awaited them that Fay gave a smile which wasn’t counterfeit.

“Mouse!”

“Darling, and here I thought you’d forgotten all about me” Dorian said, twirling his moustache between his fingers and pretending to be offended.

“My lady.”

“Fay.” Fenris moved over on the blanket by the fire to accommodate them. “Hawke.”

Fay reclined on the proffered spot and stretched her legs, her back turned to the jetstone and metal ramparts of Adamant in the distance. A few hours from now, come early evening, they would be pressing on to breach the walls. Cullen had originally planned for them to attack at first light, but Iron Bull and his Chargers had scouted nearby and observed an increase in activity on the walls. With an army at the Wardens’ doorstep, that was hardly a surprise.

“You’re just in time” Varric said. “I was about to regale Hero and Sparkler about the stolen saar-qamek formula, and how we stopped citizens of Kirkwall from puking themselves to death.”

“Javaris… yes, I remember that dwarven prick.”

“He wasn’t guilty though, Hawke” Fenris said.

“No, it was that elven fanatic. Didn’t mean Javaris wasn’t a rapacious swindler.”

“I only just managed to talk you out of killing him” Varric reminded Hawke, pointing his finger accusingly.

Hawke shrugged. “Thedas would not have wept for his loss” he muttered defensively.

Hawke sat behind her on the blanket and Fay cuddled against him between his legs, listening as Varric told them his embellishment of the story. She was certain Hawke had probably not strutted up to the Arishok and said he hoped the Qunari would choke on a fireball, but it made her laugh nonetheless.

“So, fanatics decided mass murder and inciting hysteria in a city already reeling in terror was the best way of resolving their issues?” Fay asked when the tale was at an end.

“Don’t they always?” Fenris asked, rolling his eyes.

“The Wardens aren’t doing this to fulfill some gruesome agenda for massacring innocents” Blackwall objected.

“No-one said they were, Hero, but you have to see that their actions are ill-”

“No arguing” Fay interrupted the Warden and storyteller. “Please.”

Blackwall pressed his lips together and nodded, his expression sober.

“You’re right, Mouse. I only meant to try and put you at ease. To attest that… _unfortunate_ schemes can be thwarted before they are irrevocably in motion” Varric said.

“I know, Varric, and I appreciate it, but I need all of you working together. Don’t go into this having said things you may want to take back.”

Dorian nudged Blackwall with his elbow. “Go on, you lummox. Kiss and make up.”

Blackwall held his hand out to Varric. “I should realise that this isn’t personal” the Warden admitted.

“They’re your Brothers, I understand” Varric said as they shook on it.

The last thing they needed before a battle of this magnitude was for Fay’s companions to be at odds and uncooperative. Hawke kissed her neck, and whispered: “Think we can escape for a while?” just as the horn sounded for the first troops to gather. He groaned and Fay twisted around enough to kiss him properly, uncaring of having an audience.

“Your insatiableness with have to wait, Hawke” she said. Fay cleared her throat and turned back to her friends. “Right, we need to find Solas and make our way to Cullen, who is…” she waved her arm in the general direction of the Warden fortress, through the scrabbling rabble of soldiers darting to their assigned formations “that direction, err, somewhere.”

“It’s alright, darling, we’ll make sure you don’t get lost before the fight starts” Dorian teased.

“No, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Fay said, gripping Fenris’ hand as the elf helped her up. “The Inquisitor, wandering aimlessly and missing the whole thing.”

“I’m beginning to think that Mouse is a good nickname” Dorian said.

“Hey! I’m not running away, but I am…” – _scared, terrified, praying to anything or anyone that will listen to come through this._ Those were the words Fay could not utter aloud, because there was a superstitious certainty that if she did, the reverse would be the outcome.

“We all are” Varric said quietly.

“I have one request, and you can’t refuse because I’m the Inquisitor.”

Blackwall did a double-take at Fay before roaring with laughter. “I’ve not heard you try to throw your title around before” he said.

“Well, I am now. Group hug- and no, you can’t refuse Fenris” she demanded, blinking away the onset of tears.

The men, dwarf and elf bundled around her, and shockingly did as she requested without question or protest. Fay’s heart squeezed in her chest, and it took all her self-control to not dissolve into a sobbing wreck.

“Thank you, my friends” she said, her voice croaky, “let’s go, shall we?”

Hawke put his arm around her waist and kissed the top of her head. “I never thought I’d live to see the day” he said staring after the others as they began to walk on ahead.

“Oh?”

“Fenris… _hugging_. How did you-?”

Fenris stopped in his tracks and rolled his eyes at Hawke. “Maybe you didn’t ask right” the elf said with a wide smirk.

“Pfft, you’d think after we’ve been through together he’d let me hug him at least once” Hawke grumbled good naturedly.

“She’s family” Fenris replied, his gaze darting to the ring on Fay’s finger, “though, maybe I just prefer her to you, Hawke.”

Hawke snorted. “Ass” he said, “You’ll be stuck with him too now, Fay, so Fenris is just trying to soften the blow.”

They reached the banner for the Inquisitor’s infiltration party, and when she couldn’t see him, Fay asked Rylen where Cullen was. The officer motioned to a nearby tent, and Fay saluted him in thanks. She announced her presence before entering, but found the commander with his knee bent and absorbed in reciting a prayer. Not wanting to interrupt, and also intrigued by the passage, she hung back patiently and waited for him to finish.

_'So Andraste said to her followers: “You who stand before the gates, you who have followed me into the heart of evil, the fear of death is in your eyes; its hand is upon your throat. Raise your voices to the heavens. Remember: Not alone do we stand on the field of battle.’_

“That’s an inspirational piece. I often envy your faith, it’s something I wish I could share in” she said, and smiled as his golden eyes met hers.

“The Maker will protect the virtuous, regardless of their faith in Him. They carry out His work, after all” Cullen said, standing and tightening the buckle of his sword belt.

“Is that really how you see me?” Fay asked. “I’m not necessarily one of your Maker’s children.”

“I do, yes, and who is to say that you aren’t? I may no longer be bound to the Order, but the morals they try to teach us should not be discounted. I believe you are doing good in His name, and that we will succeed.”

“Again, I wish I had your faith.”

“Fay” Cullen stepped towards her and then hesitated, his gloved hand falling to its natural grip around the hilt of his sword. “The Grey Wardens will not prevail in this misguided tenet, and you will come out of this stronger. As you have always done.”

Fay shook her head. “That’s not precisely accurate, is it?”

“We’re close to a resolution, I can feel it. Just don’t give up now.” Cullen leant down, his breath ghosting across Fay’s face, and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Make sure Hawke keeps you out of the thick of it” he said, doing his utmost to conceal the nagging bugbear of her relium.

“We’ll do this” Fay agreed, but the fib was not compelling.


	70. Chapter 70

The Grey Wardens were by far the most disciplined and tenacious rivals they had met to date, luminaries of a bygone era for whom fame and material rewards were not motivation to die on the field of battle. They were the largely unsung champions of Thedas, unmoved by any besmirching of their Order’s name, and dedicated in their everlasting cull of instruments of the blight. With each Warden slain, Fay felt a taciturn castigation and condemnation of her integrity. She was the Inquisitor, and a desire for such a seat of authority, or not, was irrelevant. When narrowed down to its primary facts, the war had come about because of her interference.

With Stroud’s aid, the ramparts were cleared of demons and the Inquisition soldiers- along with some of Gaspard’s chevaliers - scaled the walls on ladders. A battering ram had ruptured open the gate to Adamant, allowing Fay’s group first access, and Cullen was keeping control over the flow of both enemies and allies at the main entrance down below. They had persuaded some of the warriors encountered to leave the fortress peacefully, but fragmented reports received on the way into the inner precinct indicated at least half of the Grey Wardens were gathered with Clarel and Erimond at a super-sized rift at the centre of the fortress.

Stroud and Rylen stayed to support their troops on the ramparts, to flush out as many demons and brainwashed mage handlers as they could, and Fay took Hawke, Fenris, Solas, Blackwall, and Varric into the eye of the hurricane. There would be no armistice, and the death toll was rising exponentially the longer the conflict took. Fay’s mark buzzed with a constant static charge, and her aura was throttled by the enormous displacement of energy from the breach opened with Erimond’s magic as they advanced. She wondered how the Venatori mage had managed to achieve the undertaking, or had Corypheus placed it there, as he had presumably done so with the one found at the Winter Palace? Just how close was the darkspawn magister to developing a way of entering through the rifts he could tear into the fade?

“Whatever it is you’re worrying over, don’t” Hawke said softly.

“Everything?” She tried to give him a reassuring smile. “That’s a tall order, but I’ll try.”

Cole popped out of stealth ahead, making them all jump and raise their weapons.

“Festis bei umo canavarum!” Fenris exclaimed, glaring at the boy as his tattoos dwindled back from cobalt to white.

“I’ll tell you later” Hawke said to Fay with a laugh.

“I can’t go there” the spirit boy said, pointing in the direction of the disturbance of the rift. “It wants me to, but I won’t… I can’t go back. Wrong, wrong. It found her! I’m sorry.”

“Cole, what is it?” Solas asked. “Who has found whom?”

“I can’t. I promised, they promised. They wanted to help. We wanted to help….” The spirit babbled, putting his hands up to cover his ears under his hat.

“Is this an effect of the blood summoning?” Fay asked Solas in worry.

The elf’s brow pinched in bafflement. “Perhaps” he said, though he didn’t sound sure.

“Cole, I want you to stay away from… wherever it is that’s hurting you. Help out only where you can without stress, okay?”

The boy gave her a muted ‘yes’ as he vanished once again from sight, and there was no time to stand around ruminating about his misery- there was nothing else Fay could do for him on their tight deadline. The screams, shouts, and jarring rake of terrors’ claws across the black stone were catching up to them from behind, and they had to reach Clarel to either talk her around or use more vehement means.

Solas twined healing magic around a cut to Blackwall’s leg, and Varric reloaded a new cartridge of bolts his crossbow. Fay fell in to position behind her warrior companions taking point, and together their group descended a flight of stairs past Lysette and some injured Templars. The fulcrum was through the next set of doors, the droning hum at the back of Fay’s skull reaching a zenith. Darkspawn, the blight, and red lyrium set the complaint into motion- why would the Grey Wardens?

“On three?” Fenris asked.

“On three” Fay agreed.

Fenris and Blackwall lined up to charge at the heavy doors.

“One… Two… Three.”

The wood rumbled as it gave in to their collaborative barging, and the six of them burst into the middle of the Grey Wardens’ conclave.

“Clarel! Don’t do this, you’re making a huge error of judgement!” Fay shouted.

Erimond sneered down at them from behind the altar table, crimson droplets running from a knife-wound across the neck of the first Warden to give himself to their blood ritual.

“Don’t listen to her, Clarel! Of course, the Inquisitor will say anything to get you to doubt yourself. You know which of us is right” he crowed.

“Giving Corypheus a demon army to conquer Thedas is the right thing, is it?”

Fay felt a little sorry for the way Clarel’s expression fell to grief and horrified confusion. She was not an evil woman; Clarel had bought into Erimond’s deception because her duty had been used against her, and not for any avarice or malignance.

The woman shook her head. “Corypheus? No, it can’t be…”

“Enough, Clarel. Bring it through” Erimond ordered in a whiney, nasally insistence.

“You may not know me, but I’m a Warden, just like you. I stand with the Inquisition, because I will not serve what we are honour-bound to destroy. Please, listen to us” Blackwall begged. “The Grey Wardens’ oath has been perverted by this man, and the blighted monster he serves. I’m willing to bet that some of you know it too, don’t you? Inside each of you, my Brothers and Sisters, the virtues that make you good, decent people remain.”

“Blood magic, to do _this_ \- it’s never worth the risk” Hawke said.

“You cannot be so naive as to put your trust, and give your lives, to this snake? To meddle with things beyond your understanding?” Solas asked the woman in disgust.

Erimond’s staff clattered against the floor before Clarel could answer the bombardment, and a beam of indeterminable magic was set free into the air. Fay looked to Solas in question, but the elf seemed as mystified as she was. The charade was clearly at an end, and Erimond decided he had nothing to lose in unveiling his true colours to his ill-advised cohorts.

“My master thought you may be a coward, Clarel” Erimond taunted the Warden Commander. “He sent me a gift to ensure you’re all dealt with as befits you- as the vermin you are. Know your place, you stupid bitch. Kneel, or die.”

“Fuck, he really is a tool” Fay muttered, and Varric gave a surprised “Hah!” at her side.

There was a whoosh and beating of wings overhead, and a large shadow swept across the courtyard. Hawke dragged Fay backwards as a jet of red lyrium breath from Corypheus’ dragon shot along the ground directly in front of them. Fay gritted her teeth at the unearthly bellow, a rasping sound she last heard at Haven. They were penned in, the ballast shifting to the opposite end of the scales as Fay had dreaded it would. One error, one slip-up, that’s all it took to hand victory to their enemy.

Hawke cursed under his breath. “That thing…?”

“Was at Haven with Corypheus, yes” Fay answered grimly.

“Wardens, help the Inquisition!” Clarel demanded, in an unexpected yet welcome change of heart. “We will not fight you, Inquisitor.”

The Warden mage unhooked her staff and pursued Erimond up a stairway leading to another section of the aging battlements, leaving Fay’s team to cut down the Pride Demon and Shades drawn - or summoned - through the open rift with the dragon wheeling above their heads. Solas cast a barrier over their group, and Fay concentrated her remaining relium into enhancing her offense.

“Raaar! More demons!” came Bull’s excited, booming cry. “And a dragon! Today is an excellent day! Boss, you all good?”

“Bull! I really could kiss you!”

“Aww, not in front of Krem, Boss. He’d weep so many manly tears in jealousy it’d drown us all” Bull called back, his great axe swinging in an arc through the demons before him, ichor flying.

“Frig! You didn’t mention so many claw-y things, Inky.”

“You know the answer for that, Sera” Fay called to the loony elf.

“Well, duh. Arrows!”

“Damn straight! Think you can pin a few in that ugly reptile?”

“You’ll owe me a drink for each one, yeah?” Sera said, cackling as she nocked several arrows from her quiver.

Fay heard a ‘Maker, preserve me’ sort of grunt from Cassandra as the Seeker ploughed into the Pride Demon with her shield, stunning and grabbing its attention.

“Right with you, Seeker” Bull said, and knocked the butt of his axe under the beast’s chin as it prepared to flick its whip down at them.

The Wardens united, joining the Inquisition in the fight, and Fay gave a relieved thumbs-up to Dorian as his wall of fire contained a fresh wave of demons.

He tipped his staff to the stairs that Clarel and Erimond had taken. “Go, darling, we’ll be fine. Perhaps if you can do something about that weasel, Corypheus will call-off his pet?”

It was worth a try. Fay wasn’t sure how they were going to kill the dragon unless it landed, and it otherwise seemed content to rain corrupted lyrium flames at them from a distance. Fay beckoned for her companions to accompany her after the Warden Commander and slippery Venatori mage. The bastard wasn’t going to get away a second time, not if Fay had any say in the matter.


	71. Chapter 71

Hawke had scrunched his eyes tight, his stomach lurching up into his throat, and they were falling at high speed- then not. Corypheus’ dragon had munched down on the Warden Commander just as they reached the ledge, and the woman injured it with a blast of storm magic in her final throes. The dragon tumbled through the crumbling ledge, the weakened and eroded masonry collapsing and taking them down with it into the ravine. But, now… now they were in the fade.

“Shit, this is my fault. I didn’t know what else to do” Fay said from below.

Ah, upside down; that was disconcerting.

“Mouse, what the-” Varric spluttered, clutching Bianca to his chest and staring around wide-eyed.

Hawke did a quick, dizzying rotation and saw that the six of them seemed to be whole, if not a bit shaken. Except for Solas, the elf was loving this, wasn’t he? Hawke didn’t understand his fascination with the fade, it was a hostile place full of demons waiting to trip you up at every corner.

“Fay opened a rift, and we fell through” Solas interrupted in wonder. “Look” he added, nodding off at the distance. “The Black City.”

“Fay, family or not, this is…”

“Crap. I know, Fenris. I’m sorry. What was I supposed to do? Let us splatter across the ground as a rather unattractive collage?”

Fenris sighed. “No, I suppose not.”

Hawke focused on the direction he wanted to go, to right himself, and took a few testing steps. He had just enough time to put his hands out and brace himself as he hit the ground.

“Andraste’s flaming ass, I hate this place” he grumbled.

Blackwall had retrieved his staff, offering it back to Hawke with a snigger.

“It’s alright for you, you landed the right way up” Hawke said.

He dusted himself off, avoiding the puddles of – water-? – and walked over to join Fay, hugging her tightly for his own succour as well as hers.

“It’s going to be alright” he said, and kissed the top of her head.

Fay’s hair, which had fallen loose of her braid, was damp from sweat, fade water, and Maker knew what else, but Hawke didn’t care. She was unscathed, and they would get through this. The breach Erimond had opened would still be open, so if they could reach it here then they would have a way out. Fay’s head rested against his chest, the red and green winding radiance of the anchor dulling at her restored calm, and she echoed Hawke’s line of thinking about the rift to them.

“It is our only option” Solas agreed, “unless you are capable of opening another from here to return us?”

Fay studied her palm and shook her head. “No. I don’t even know how I did it, so trying it again would just be asking for trouble.”

“Charming place” Blackwall said, tilting his head sideways to squint up at the waterfall spilling over some floating boulders. “Is that water running backwards?”

“Probably. It’s the fade” Fenris said.

“And you have knowledge of this how?” the Warden asked. “You’re not a mage.”

“Fenris has been to the fade before, and so has Varric” Hawke told him.

“Hawke… I don’t think Hero needs to know about that.”

“Why ever not, Varric?” he asked his friend with a sly grin.

“What happened?” Fay asked, looking from Fenris to Varric as they both fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Well, Varric turned on me because of his brother issues” Hawke explained, “and Fenris decided he’d listen to the demon offering him the power to vanquish his former master. I had to fight them both for being traitorous dicks. Oh, and Isabela.”

“And what did Isabela do?”

“Sold me out for a boat” Hawke said and laughed. “A big boat, though. Apparently, that made it worthwhile.”

“I told you not to take me with you” Fenris complained. “How did you expect me to fight against something I was unprepared for?”

Hawke shrugged. “Let’s just hope you don’t get an equally good offer this time round.”

“This is the lair of a very old fear demon” Solas said. “I do not think negotiating deals is something we will have to concern ourselves with.”

“Just death then, great” Blackwall muttered.

“If we do not move before it notices our presence, it is a possibility.”

“You know, Chuckles, you could at least try a white lie every now and then.”

“And why would I do that, Child of the Stone? To make you feel better?”

“Please, let’s not bicker. Solas is right, and I got us into this mess, so if you want to pick on anyone it’s me” Fay said.

The group went quiet, and Fay pointed at the stairway ahead. “That way, I can feel the rift tugging at the mark.”

“Is this what happened when you…?”

“I don’t know, Hawke, I still don’t have my memories from before.”

“Alright, sweetheart. That way it is then.”

They kept themselves armed, and approached the stairs in their usual configuration: Blackwall and Fenris leading, Solas, Varric, and himself at the back, and Fay in the middle. Hawke nearly ran into Fay as the forward three halted abruptly, and stood staring at something at the top of the landing. A wizened, serene figure of a woman dressed in the crisp white robes of the chantry. The Divine.

“That can’t be…” Blackwall said, his mouth agape. “The Divine died.”

The woman raised her arms, signaling to them in peace, and smiled. “Why is it not possible that I survived, brave Warden? You are here in the flesh, are you not?”

Solas passed Hawke to eye the woman critically, but kept his observations as to whether they were faced with a demon or a benign spirit to himself.

“Traveler, mother, Inquisitor… you wish to know, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

The Divine nodded to Fay, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening in sorrow. “There is one who can help. She knows you are here, and she comes for you, Fay. The Nightmare was stirred by your arrival, making a glutton of itself with your memories, your pain. She wants you to have them back, to understand her bargain.”

“Bargains, demon?” Fenris snarled.

Fay touched Fenris’ arm, causing him to lower his great sword.

“I want to see, Fenris. I need to” she said to him.

“This is just a trick…”

“Ah, poor Leto. It is not as you think” the Divine said. “Will you allow your companions to know all, Inquisitor?” she asked Fay.

“Sweetheart-”

“It’s fine, Hawke. Solas?”

“I believe the spirit can reinstate the memories it safeguards, without harm” the elf said.

“So, it is a spirit.”

Hawke took hold of Fay’s hand, his thumb rubbing across the top of her knuckles.  “I didn’t think that was really in question, Blackwall.”

Fay disregarded the two of them, though squeezed Hawke’s hand in recognition of his support.

“And of the one wishing to bargain?” she asked Solas. “You said a fear demon like this one wouldn’t bother with doing that.”

“Of that I am resolute. I do not know of whom the spirit speaks.”

“Mouse…”

“I need to know” Fay reiterated.

With the decision made, the spirit of the Divine sent a ball of light to Fay that contacted with her trunk and made her gasp. It fulminated like lightning around them, and a vision of his love’s last moments were shown to them.


	72. Chapter 72

Fay rolled over in her bed, kicking free the duvet that had become tangled around her legs. She was hot, but too sleepy to get up and open the window to let in a breeze, if there even was one. Bloody unpredictable British weather. Coughing, she cracked open an eye and raised her head to look over at the digital display of the alarm clock sitting on the unit next to the television. What was that? Quarter past two, or three? Fay blinked, and sat up to focus on the numbers, realising with slow muddiness that the murk was not just because she’d woken up at some ungodly hour, but there something in the air. Smoke.

“Rebecca?”

Fay got out of bed, smacking her shoulder into the wardrobe as she staggered for the bedroom door. She hacked and wheezed, the movements making her lungs pull in more of the filthy air, and tried to hold the sleeve of her nightshirt over her nose and mouth. The door handle was still cool, but the boards beneath her toes were definitely warm. The living room, and maybe even the kitchen, was already on fire then. Depending how far it had spread, they could possibly still get down the stairs and out to the street.

“Fuck, my phone is on the kitchen counter. Bollocks!”

Fay opened the bedroom door, flinching in readiness of… what was it that fireman called it- a backdraft? The backdraft didn’t happen, but instead of just hearing the crackling of flames, through the soupy, charcoal gloom she could see a flicker of orange ochre at the top of the stairs to the landing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Fay made a left down the hallway to her daughter’s pink sponged bedroom, where fairies and butterflies danced on the wallpaper border. The carpet was warmer at the front of the house than the floor had been in her room.

“Rebecca…” Fay shook her daughter as another fit of coughing rendered her speechless. “Honey… you’ve got to… to get up.”

“Mummy?”

“It’s alright, honey. We have to…” Fay fumbled for the throw blanket on Rebecca’s bed and held it to her daughter’s face. “We have to go. You must… keep this over you. Come.”

“Where are we going?” Rebecca cried, her small voice muffled through the cloth. “Mummy, I don’t like it.”

Fay didn’t have time to try and explain or calm her down; not until they were safe. She herded Rebecca down the stifling hall, and with her daughter whimpering and shaking she had to maintain hold of the blanket firmly enough over Rebecca’s airway to block out the fumes. Fay made encouraging noises in between fits of coughing to get her to keep walking. Nearly there. Stumbling through the choking dark, the only way Fay could keep her balance was pressing her right hand against the wall. She gave up trying to stop herself inhaling more of the smoke without any hands free to do so, and her chest was tight. She was suffocating, her head spinning, and her legs doing a great impression of being joint-less.

Fay nearly fell through the open doorway, and pushed Rebecca inside so that she could shut the door behind them. Her daughter dropped the blanket and scurried away to jump onto the bed, curling up in the spot that Andrew had occupied months before. The window, if she opened the window and lowered Rebecca down- threw out the mattress, or duvet, for cushioning? Fay dropped to her knees and crawled over to the ledge, pulling herself upright when she got there.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking… kidding me.”

She wiggled the handle again, but it still wouldn’t budge. Locked. Why would the windows be locked, and where the hell did _he_ leave the keys? Fay felt along the sill and found nothing. She could see her neighbour’s silver Mercedes parked in its usual bay below. Surely John had smelt the smoke by now and called for the fire brigade? Fay battered her fists against the panes and shouted for help, scanning for anything she could use to break the glass. Double glazing… what did she have that would be strong enough? Shit.

“Mummy?”

Fay dropped back down to her knees, weak and in defeat. They were going to die. There was no way out. The orange light was filling in the cracks around the doorframe, the flames in the hallway right outside. Fay fell onto the bed next to Rebecca, who was coughing now as well. Inside, Fay’s heart was tearing into a thousand pieces. She had failed her daughter, her one joy. God, if you exist, please don’t let it end like this.

“It’s alright, honey. Mummy’s just… tired. Cl-close your eyes and… give me a big hug” she managed to say with a smile.

“Is there a fire? Does that mean… daddy will come back to get us?” Rebecca asked, hugging her small arms around Fay’s neck and snuggling under her chin.

“I’m sure… daddy… is on his way.”

Fay swallowed the lump in her stinging throat, and stroked Rebecca’s hair as she closed her eyes.

“I miss daddy.”

“I know, honey. I love you…”

A luminous green flash lit up the inside of her eyelids, and suddenly Fay was falling. She screamed, still holding her daughter to her chest as they crashed against what looked like the stone floor of a cavern. Winded and unable to move with Rebecca on top of her, Fay stared up and took in the fact that there were rocks in the sky- swimming around like croutons in soup.

“The afterlife is even more fucked up than I could have imagined.”

Fay’s throat wasn’t irritated anymore, and her were lungs unclogged- though her clothes still smelt of soot.

“You are between” a woman said. “In the moment of death, on that very knife-edge, you were both pulled here.”

Fay turned her head to find the source of the voice, her fingertips touching Rebecca’s neck to find a pulse. It was thready, and her daughter’s skin was an unhealthy waxen. Pulled through- what did that mean, and to where?

“Please, I-I don’t understand, but I need an ambulance. My daughter… there was a fire-”

“She is not able to make the journey through, to return. Not yet.”

The arrival spouting strange nonsense came into view, and Fay gasped. Dead. She had to be dead, or hallucinating; the woman was a spectre, not solid, and Fay could see through her form to the stalagmite columns and statues behind.

“Who - what are you?”

“I am Wisdom.”

“You’re a ghost?”

“I am a spirit. I reside here…” she said, gesturing with a shimmering arm “in the fade.”

“The fade?”

“It would take too long to explain, otherworlder. The balance of energy has been rocked, and there is a breach opening through to the physical world. The Nightmare was awoken by it, curious and hungry. Now it approaches, and it will kill you if it finds you. Both of you.”

Fay shuffled to sit, Rebecca’s limp body sliding down onto her stomach and easing the pressure on her ribs and jarred back. There was a thundering, and Fay could feel the earth tremor beneath her legs. There followed an intensely terrifying sound- the cross of a screech and a roar – that bristled the hairs on the back of her neck.

“That’s the ‘Nightmare’?” she asked the spirit calling herself Wisdom.

“Yes. A demon, which I cannot defeat.”

“Then, even if I believe any of this is real, how can you help us?”

“You could go through, as a distraction. Draw it away from the child. But your daughter, she needs rest before attempting such a journey.”

“For how long?”

“I do not know, but I will protect her. I will keep it from finding her until she is healed.”

“You promise to keep her hidden, to keep her safe?” Fay asked wildly, staring up at Wisdom in surreal acceptance.

Why was she even considering this as a feasibility- to hand her daughter to a stranger? To a ghost? Yet there was something overwhelmingly calming about the woman’s manner, that Fay found herself trusting her word. Maybe this was some sort of test? It all seemed so real, not a dream or an illusion. If there was a demon, an inhuman monster, Rebecca had to be kept out of danger.

“If that is your will- that I make a promise - then I do so” Wisdom said.

Fay ears picked out a chittering sound, which was new amidst the rumble and thuds of something big heading towards them, and saw what looked like a swarm of giant spiders running down a slope in the distance.

“Oh, god…”

“It has sent them to locate us” Wisdom said, reaching down for Rebecca.

Fay kissed her daughter’s porcelain cheek, and the spirit gently took her from Fay.

“What do I do?” she asked, getting to her feet.

“You must go” Wisdom urged. “Do you see the stairs cut into the rock, there?” The spirit turned to face the escape route in question. “That way, and you must not stop for anything or the fearlings and the Nightmare will catch you.”

“I- my daughter…”

“I promise” Wisdom said. “Please, go.”

Fay ran. The chittering and thumps grew louder. Her side was splitting with a stitch, and her heart was trying to jump out from between her ribs.

“What… the fuck… am I doing?! Please… let her be safe. Please.”

At the top of the stairs was a lurid green light, and a boy with a large brimmed hat.

“Wisdom called for me” he said. “The Nightmare, does it know? Wisdom thinks there is a way for them both to stay out of sight for longer. For it not to catch on, not until they are far away. She made a promise, so she can’t ask the wolf to help. I don’t want to be here, not like this, but, I do want to help: Wisdom, you, Rebecca. The other side twists with ebbing agony. There is no other choice…”

The boy didn’t explain, but grabbed her arm and dragged Fay towards the green light. She heard him say: “Forget” before she collided with someone and her knees scraped on a floor. Stone tiles. What was she to forget? Where was she?

There was a guttural howl, the clink of something hitting the ground.

“Kill her! Kill the intruder!”

“What?!”

Fay tried to gain purchase on the ground, to push herself upright, and her left hand came down at a bad angle onto something round. Spherical. There was a snap, a crack of bones in her wrist, and she screamed at the spike of shock through her palm. A heavy pressure flattened her to the floor, an explosion throwing silhouettes in all directions around her. Fay closed her eyes, a high-pitched tone drowning out all other sound except the boy’s last phrase echoing in her head. Forget. Forget…


	73. Chapter 73

Fay retreated to a ridge and sat, the floodgates to her memories launched wide open. Even with Cole messing with her mind and making her forget, _how could she?_   Instead of a reflection of the disdain she felt for herself on her friends faces, there was condolence and empathy. Their reaction was surprising, and utterly shaming. They still believed in her; holding onto the opinion that she still had something of worth to give. Was that true anymore? Fay didn’t know.

Blackwall and Fenris were openly disorientated by the vision, although that was to be expected. Fay had never gotten around to telling them of who she was and where she was from. They knew nothing of the home where she thought Rebecca had been for all these onerous months, sheltered from the atrocities of Thedas that she had become entangled with.

“Sweetheart-”

Fay held out her hands to keep Hawke at arms length. “I left her- don’t you understand? I left her.”

Was that really all she was good at in life? Losing the people whom she loved, or driving them away? The incandescence of the mark brightened with her mounting distress, and the sight of it repulsed Fay. Another cancer, a scourge putting hurdles in her way. She should have done more.

“She was dying, Hawke. My daughter… and then I forgot what I’d done! What kind of mother does that make me?! What kind of a person does that make me…?”

Fay had grabbed hold of the front of Hawke’s jacket, combating the masochistic impulse to push him away, and finding herself immobilized by a panic that he would do just that. Go, and not look back. It wasn’t what she wanted, not really.

“Sweetheart, you did what you thought would _save_ her. Given your options, entrusting her to Wisdom was the only thing you could do, for you both to survive” he reasoned.

Hawke tried to hide the crack in his voice, but Fay could pick it out; there was a misery in it at not knowing how to deal with her immediate, surging desolation. She couldn’t look at him, because either way she was lost. If Hawke still loved her, the anxiety she was causing him was inequitable, and if he didn’t… no, she couldn’t think of that.

“Touching the orb set off the explosion at the temple” Fay said. “It was me. Not only did I leave Rebecca, but…”

Letting go of Hawke’s jacket, she covered her eyes. Cassandra and Leliana had exonerated Fay because of hearing the echo of Corypheus calling out to kill her, the intruder, at the breach. Although not an accomplice to the magister, she had inadvertently become a gear in the mechanism that crippled the chantry, the mages, and the Templars. Would they still think of her in the same way?

“Your interruption accidently triggered the spell early” the spirit said, “but the outcome was always going to be as it was. If you had not been there, that would not have changed.”

“How can you say that so coolly? I effectively pressed the red button. I killed them, I killed _you_ \- the Divine.”

“It was Corypheus’ nefarious scheme to find a way into the fade, to enter the Black City. What he set into motion could not have been altered. When you went through to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, I had already started the journey to the Maker’s side. As for the others, they could not have been saved.”

Even if her friends accepted the eruption was Corypheus’ doing, Fay would have to go on knowing the bodies strewn at the ruins were a result of her hand activating the elven foci. Unavoidable or not, it made her feel dirty, sick; reminiscent of when she sat in the stream near Dennet’s farmstead trying to futilely cleanse the tarnish from her skin. Fay had eventually come to terms with doing whatever she needed in Thedas, including killing in self-defence, but her coincidental part in the disastrous event at the conclave would never be diluted.

“W-where is my daughter?”

“Compassion asked some of the other spirits to foster Rebecca into their care and take her into a part of the fade they thought would be invulnerable. I’m sorry, Inquisitor, but the Nightmare is cunning.”

“It found her” she whispered, and the spirit of the Divine nodded a cheerless confirmation.

“Remember what I said, that I would help you find her? Fay, I meant it. If she is here, we will find her. Together” Hawke murmured.

Fay couldn’t contain it anymore, it was all too much. She sobbed, breaking down into a child-like tantrum and pounding her fists on the rock until Hawke restrained her arms and refused to let go. Slowly she regained her composure. Rebecca was here, within reach. Wisdom had kept her daughter safe up until her passing, just as the spirit vowed to do, and now it was Fay’s turn to reclaim her daughter and take her from this place. From the Nightmare, and the trap it had laid out for her.

“Love…” Hawke wiped away her tears, his kiss on her lips sweet and tender. “It’s going to be alright” he said.

Fay felt a small healing spell from Solas begin to fix the knuckles she had bloodied and scraped, and got shakily to her feet.

“I’m sorry” she told her sombre companions.

“Mouse, none of that. Shit, if I’d been through that and had the memory of it shoved down my throat again, I’d be frantic too… We’re here for you. Don’t beat yourself up over what could have been, concentrate on what we do next.”

“You’ll need to explain some things, but it can wait until later. Consider whatever you need of me as done.”

Blackwall nodded his head in agreement with Fenris’ sentiment. “My sword is yours. This Warden walks with the Inquisition, and with _you_ ” the warrior stressed.

“The siege… Does the Nightmare have anything to do with what the Wardens are doing at Adamant?” Fay asked, straightening her armour and re-tying the end of her braid. A cosmetic exhibition that she was the Inquisitor once again, though she could not hide the way her hands shook and her fingers fumbled at their task.

“Yes. The false calling is its work” the Divine said, glancing to Blackwall. “Fueled by their fear for another blight, it has been growing stronger.”

“So, we stop it” Hawke said confidently. “Not that we needed another reason, but now we have two very good ones.”

Fay didn’t think it would be as easy as Hawke was making out, but she would be damned if she was going to run from it again. The Divine pointed to the pathway delving deeper into the Nightmare’s domain. There was a narrow passage through glistening monoliths, which looked like carved figures clutching their heads with their mouths elongated in screams of pain. When Fay turned to look back over Hawke’s shoulder to the spirit, she had gone.

Solas switched his staff from one hand to the other in contemplation. “Wisdom’s message makes sense now, as does some of Cole’s conduct around you” the elf said.

“I could have distorted Wisdom’s nature without realising what I was doing. Or Cole’s. I asked her to make me a promise, to keep the knowledge of my daughter quiet, but I didn’t understand. It was an uninformed choice of words, and it could have altered her. Solas-”

“Da’len, if Wisdom thought committing to such a promise would be damaging, she would not have agreed. You did no harm to her, and your plea was not made in malevolence.” Solas smiled, albeit uneasily in Fay’s opinion, and walked over to the start of the path. “This way, then. We should hurry.”

“Are you all sure about this?”

“Sure?” Varric said, “Mouse, we’re already down the creek without a boat.”

They filed through one-by-one, coming out onto a plateau with a hewn stairway leading down to a waterlogged basin.  Whatever protection there had been to prevent their detection by the Nightmare demon was no longer in effect. It ridiculed their intrusion, starting with Fay.

“Otherworlder, I knew you would come. After all, I have something you so negligently misplaced. Small, tender, juicy…” The Nightmare cackled, its disembodied voice coming from everywhere. “Do I destroy her first?” the demon questioned. “Or do I keep you begging to spare her until the end? Decisions, decisions! I will only guarantee this: You will be the last to fall, and it will be delectable.”

“Don’t listen to it” Solas warned. “The demon will say all the things it knows will put you off-balance, but for now they are empty threats. A test to see what will get the reaction it seeks.”

“Well, it knows where to dig its claws in” Fay said.

“Ah, the supposed Champion” the Nightmare continued. “They will both die, just like your sister and mother. There is nothing you can do.”

“Watch me” Hawke spat back defiantly.

There was a clicking trill from above, and Solas cast a barrier over their group as fearlings dropped over the walls around them. The monstrous spiders jumped at them, fangs chomping down on Blackwall’s shield and Fenris’ gauntlet and great sword as the warriors pushed the Nightmare’s vassals back. Fay strained against one that tried to overpower Hawke, its hairy front legs poking against her shoulders from around her own raised shield. The relium gave her enough strength to resist the spider’s efforts to knock her over, and one of Varric’s bolts dug into its underbelly before Hawke’s fireball finished it off.

“Spiders…” Fay groaned through gritted teeth.

Her mace snapped the leg of a fearling rounding on Solas, who was in the middle of throwing an energy barrage at one rearing up behind Blackwall.

“Spiders? I wish I was seeing spiders, Mouse” Varric said.

“They’re personalised” Hawke explained, his wall of fire cutting through three of the fearlings in front of Fenris.

The elven warrior used the diversion to step through them, his tattoos blazing and weapon goring their bloated abdomens. Fay noticed now how some of her friends were grimacing as they fought, particularly Solas and Hawke; what they were seeing was more disturbing than just spiders, and Fay wondered with sadness what it could be.


	74. Chapter 74

Somehow, they made it through to the centre of the labyrinth, past countless terrors, fearlings, pride, and rage demons. The Nightmare waited, a goliath that could not be missed on their approach. A spider - its guise perhaps for irony’s sake - the size of a two storey building watched over a tiny figure laying just inside the entrance to an area of flatland, shrouded in a cocoon of unknown magic. Fay struggled, Solas’ grip bruising her forearm beneath the leather sleeve and preventing her from running in to her daughter.

“No! You rush this, and it will kill her” he said.

“She’s right there! I don’t care, let me go.”

“Da’len, stop."

The demon’s amused laughter was almost deafening. “Why delay?” the Nightmare taunted. “Come and get her, Inquisitor.”

“Solas, please. I failed her once, I can’t lose her for good.”

Fay looked to Hawke for assistance, but he stroked her cheek with his fingers and shook his head.

“Solas is right, sweetheart. We need to think about this.”

“Please… please, Hawke-”

“We must not do anything rash” Solas said, his aura fizzling with agitation. “I have not regained enough power… even with all of us combined, I am not certain. Fay, a moment is all I ask.”

“I hate to side with Chuckles, Mouse, but that thing is a lot bigger than I thought it was going to be.”

“Maker’s balls, I don’t even know if I can hit it without getting trampled” Blackwall said, wiping gore and dirt from his forehead with his sleeve.

Fenris reclined against one of the effigy pillars, frowning as his eyes scanned up from the tarsus of one leg to the full height of the Nightmare’s hulking stature. “ _Now_ I see a spider” he quibbled.

Fay stared across at her daughter, aware that Hawke had taken Solas’ place in holding her back with more moderate force. The delay in going to Rebecca, to cuddle her, see her small chest rise and fall, and feel the beating of her heart, was a torment worse than when Fay had been struck by the likelihood that there wouldn’t be an opening to take her back to Earth. She had always tried to retain hope for reunion, but there were many long nights when she simply couldn’t shut up her overactive stream of consciousness.

“I understand” Fay whispered.

Her friends were putting their lives on the line for her, for Rebecca, Fay reminded herself. She wouldn’t ask them to take on the Nightmare in a kamikaze attack, to fall on their own swords and spells because of restive impatience. Varric tapped her hip in pity, his other hand searching his pocket for his flask. Finding it, he held it out before promptly dropping it in surprise.

“Get out!” the demon shrieked. “Get out!”

“Hush. You alone do not hold dominion over the fade” a woman’s voice commanded. “Ma emma harel.” The final phrase was said with undisguised toxicity, in an intonation that sounded elvish.

They all whirled to confront the visitor, a woman wearing a revealing bustier-style fitted top with black feathers at the shoulders, ebony gauntlets, and knee-high leather boots. Fay would have put the woman’s age as mid to late sixties, but there was no hint of frailty or stoop to her frame. A golden coronet nestled amidst wavy white hair, some lengths of which had been bound with cords of red wool and shaped into curving horns. Could this be the benefactor of her memories that the spirit of the Divine had mentioned? Whoever she was, Fay heard the small gasp Solas made in identification of the authoritative matron.

“You, at least, were expecting me” the woman said with a minacious grin to Fay. “You require my aid, and I require yours.”

“Flemeth!” Hawke exclaimed. “Do you always swoop in to the rescue?”

Flemeth chuckled. “It is often required of me, Champion of Kirkwall.”

Varric had told Fay a tale about the Witch of the Wilds, a shapeshifter mage who had saved Hawke’s family and Aveline from the darkspawn. Hawke, Fenris, and Varric had encountered her again at a Dalish camp, where they had picked up Merrill after delivering some sort of amulet to a shrine. If the woman before them was _that_ mage, what could Flemeth want from Fay? The anchor?

“I can help you?” Fay asked skeptically. “I don’t see how.”

“Oh, but you can. You are more valuable than you perceive, Inquisitor. Will you listen?”

Fenris gave Hawke a disgruntled sideways glance, and Varric’s feet scuffled against the rock.

“Mouse, be careful.”

“Yes” Fay answered, not giving them any opportunity to disapprove. “I will listen.”

“Excellent!” Flemeth cried, the resounding clap of her hands making Fay start. The woman’s unusual yellow eyes scintillated with a sapphire light and the motions of all but the pair of them suspended in time. Her friends stood unmoving, silent sentinels to their exchange, and the Nightmare’s rumblings were terminated.

“Now we may converse, without interruption, but only for a short while. Let us make it count.”

“My daughter…” Fay said, taking a step back and bumping into Blackwall. The warrior didn’t blink or acknowledge her clumsiness.

“She is untouched and recovering. The Nightmare could not break the binding of her slumber, the uthenera Wisdom placed her into. Rebecca served as the decoy to bring you here and assure your co-operation, but I will not allow the demon to harm her or you.”

“It wants the mark, for Corypheus” Fay surmised. “Is that what you want too?”

“I am old, and I am tired, girl” Flemeth said, giving her an exaggerated sigh. “I want to give my falon a new destiny. To save the people, in a way which will not result from further accidents or bloodshed. I do not want the magic you hold, but I would rid you of it. Now… to the crux of my bargain. I can banish the demon, and your friends will be able to escape through the rift to Adamant. You and your daughter will come with me, and in return you agree to carry out a task for my favour.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I shall leave, and you can face the Nightmare demon to save your daughter.”

“But we can’t win” Fay said.

“No.”

“Then I don’t have a choice. Again.”

“That is often the case. To achieve the future we desire, we must sometimes employ measures we do not want to. My falon knows this better than most.”

Flemeth looked to Solas, and it dawned on Fay that her ‘falon’ was him. It wasn’t inconceivable that Solas knew the mage, though their relationship wasn’t clear as he hadn’t mentioned her once in the months Fay had known him. The woman was another fade walker- she knew Wisdom, or of Wisdom at least – and that made her a valuable ally. One that could not be turned down.

“If you’re able to stop the demon, why do you need my assistance?”

“Blood. More accurately, what your unique mixture can do. But, I will only reveal the details if you agree to my terms.”

Fay studied Hawke and she ached at the prospect that this might be it, an end to their relationship as they knew it. Would she see him again after? Flemeth had intervened with her love’s fate, sending him to Kirkwall, and now the mysterious mage was here to do the same with Fay. Whatever she was about to agree to, things wouldn’t be the same; they couldn’t be.

“I’m sorry, Hawke.” She nodded to the mage. “I accept.”

“You may still have your happy ending” Flemeth said, her eyes flashing as the standstill ended. “Just not today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma emma harel - You should fear me.   
> Falon - Friend


	75. Chapter 75

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has stuck by me for the creation of this work, and for all your comments and encouragement ^^ This chapter denotes an end to part one of Fay's story in Thedas, which will continue on through the fifth blight and Kirkwall.

The fabled Witch of the Wilds emitted a blitz of magic unlike anything Fay had sensed before, expelling the Nightmare from its den and clearing their access to the rift. Her friends needed no encouragement to make a break for the exit, and in their jubilant relief didn’t register the crafty look of affirmation she traded with Flemeth. The stage was set, now Fay had to act her part. She set off with the group, feeling wretched that she was deceiving them- and most of all, Hawke.

Flemeth fadestepped to Rebecca and picked her up. “Go through” the woman shouted to them as they passed by, adjusting her daughter so that her head was pillowed against the feather pauldrons. “The demon will return, and you do not want to be here when it does.” The mage gave a coarse laugh. “Or maybe you do- who am I to say how you wish to meet your Maker?”

Fenris, Blackwall, and Varric were the first to run through the rift back to Adamant, and Fay was sad that she hadn’t been able to say goodbye to them. Both Hawke and Solas halted a few paces in front of the tear, turning to Fay and Flemeth intentionally lagging behind. Solas’ expression quickly became a stratus of woe when the elf deducted what was going on.

“I see” he said. “Suledin, da’len. It has been a pleasure.”

“Thank you, Solas, for everything” Fay said. “I can’t properly express my gratitude.”

“Ir abelas, falon” Flemeth said. “It is necessary. Things may yet be salvaged.”

“Banal nadas” the elf replied. “Take care of them both.” Solas bowed respectfully and strode through the rift.

“Dareth shiral” Flemeth whispered after him.

“Fay, what’s going on?” Hawke asked. “You’re talking as if you’re staying...”

Fay bit her lip, determined not to cry again until after he was gone. She didn’t want Hawke’s last vision of her to be as a weak mess. It was a selfish reason, as was the hope that one day he would find it in himself to forgive her- for having to put him second.

“Sweetheart, please” he pleaded.

Hawke grabbed for her hand, intending to pull her through the rift with him, but Fay dug her heels in against the slippery stones.

“Hawke, I-”

She couldn’t find the right words, so Fay lifted up onto her toes and kissed him. As the pleasure of the kiss heightened, Hawke’s guard dropped. Fay summoned the relium to her, a steady trickle of power building at her fingertips. Would this kiss be the last act of love between them? She placed her palms on his chest, an image of his athletic body over hers in the heat of passion shooting through her mind. Was this really to be their final farewell, she wondered. Fay pushed Hawke backwards. He gasped, radiant blue eyes locking with hers, and he disappeared. She sealed the rift, the snap of the closure like a whip cracking. Then there was silence.

“Oh god…”

She could still feel the touch of his lips.

“Another scar to add to the others,” Flemeth mused, “but this one will be forgotten.

“How can you say that?” Fay asked hotly.

“Because the future is yours to alter, and if it is to include the Champion again, it will.”

A false sentiment to ease the pain, Fay thought. She took Rebecca from Flemeth, elated to finally hold her daughter in her arms, yet defeated by the price she’d had no recourse but to pay.

“What now?” she asked, gazing down at Rebecca’s tranquil face. Her skin was warm, and her pulse was no longer feeble. There was still the odd aura surrounding her, though it didn’t alarm Fay as it had when she first saw it.

“Now, we discuss what is to come, and the rules for this bargain.”

The fade warped, billions of pinpricks of light zipping past in a disorientating blur, merging to construct the courtyard of a castle. A grand staircase of white marble led up to the main doorway, and Flemeth gestured for Fay to follow her into the hall.

“You may put her there” the mage’s voice echoed, and she pointed to a long couch near the throne at the back of the room.

Fay placed Rebecca down where she was bid and sat beside her, her daughter’s small hand enclosed in hers. There was a tall mirror on either side of the throne, though Fay couldn’t see any reflection in their surface. Everything around them was sunny, vivid, even the startling dragon wings unfurling from the sculpted ivory seat on which Flemeth settled with familiarity. The witch smiled, her gauntlet wafting airily.

“Welcome” she said, “to my home. None enter these walls without my permission, not even the wolf.”

It wasn’t the first time that a wolf had been mentioned. “Who or what is this wolf?” Fay asked.

“Allow me to divulge my plan, and we shall see how much you need to know as we go along.”

“Alright.”

“I give a nudge here and there through history, and pray those I have chosen possess the bravery to leap when they have to. Not all do, but some…”

“Like Hawke?”

“Yes, like Hawke. Solas made you aware that the orb Corypheus had was elven?”

Fay nodded.

“Did he tell you who the orb belonged to?"

“How would he know? Is there a memory of it in the fade?”

The mage grinned, the metal of her gauntlet scratching the arm of the chair. “He would know, because it was his” she said simply.

“What?! How-?”

“My falon is one of the people, of the true elvhen. His purpose was demonised, and he was cast aside by those who bend their knee too easily. To correct a terrible mistake, Solas will bring down the veil once the fight with Corypheus is done.”

“Take down the veil? Wouldn’t that mean spirits and magic set loose across Thedas?”

“This is how we lived, but your concern is correct. Ripping down his creation with such sudden, unexpected force would do worse than that- it would destroy the world. I want to give Solas the means he searches for, to return the beyond to the elves- the ancient cities, libraries, temples of the fade… The explosion at the conclave cannot occur. The thread for that future, this future, is darkened by too much death and suffering.”

“His creation? But, that would mean he’s…” Fay searched for the name, the one she had seen in books on Dalish legends at Skyhold. “Fen’harel?”

“Ah, It is so refreshing to have an otherworlder aware of our past.”

“You say that as if you’ve met others.”

“Who is to say that I have not.”

“Okay. This will give me an aneurism later trying to put all the pieces in place, but I’m still not really sure what you want me to do?”

Flemeth looked purposefully to Rebecca, sleeping on the couch beside Fay. “Your daughter cannot be woken, not until she is strong enough to bodily make the journey from the fade to the waking world. Wisdom did well, Rebecca is in uthenera- the endless dream. I will continue to restore her, but it will take nearly two years for every one of hers.”

“Twelve years?!”

“Ten. Give or take."

“And what am I supposed to do for that amount of time?”

“Use it wisely. It will take that long because I will expend most of my reserve of magic to send you back through an eluvian, to Thedas ten years prior from now.”

“To the fifth blight?”

“You are smart! I like you. This is what I ask: Join the ranks of the Grey Wardens and slay the archdemon. But it must die by your hand alone."

“Why? What’s so important about me killing the beast rather than the Hero of Ferelden?”

“You will absorb its soul, and your blood will cleanse it of the taint.”

“Absorb… I’m not sure I like the sound of that. And what then?"

“You will find Solas, and pass the soul of the old god Urthemiel to him before the conclave.”

“And this, somehow, will give him the power he needs to change the future for the elves? Without bringing doom upon the world?”

Flemeth smiled. “You will need to convince him that you are a friend, not a foe; but you have won his respect and I am certain you will succeed.”

“What happens if I don’t?”

“Then we may be having this conversation again in ten years time.”

“Great.” Fay touched her daughter’s face, her eyelids fluttering in response but not opening. Ten years… A crazy notion, but the promise of a life for them together when it was all over- would that include Hawke too? “You mentioned rules” she said.

“You will not mention Fen’harel’s name or plan in the context of this discussion to anyone, not even your beloved Hawke. You must also not reveal any of this to my daughter, Morrigan. The girl is strong-willed and forthright, just as I raised her. She may try to stop you, especially given her views about me.”

Morrigan was Flemeth’s daughter? And if Solas was some ancient elf renowned to be a trickster and villain, then just who was Flemeth exactly? Fay wasn’t sure she would ever find out, or necessarily want to.

“Hawke- can I go to Kirkwall, to find him?”

“You may, once your part in the blight is complete.”

“When do I have to leave, err, travel back?”

“Now.”

“And how do I know that you will return Rebecca to me if I do succeed with all this?”

“You cannot. However, once I give my word, I do not break it” Flemeth said curtly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean any offence. Just…”

“I know the heaviness in your heart” the mage said. “Your struggles have not been easy, and I am sorry that it has come to this.”

A ribbon of magic wrapped around Fay’s arm, covering the mark.

“There is of course one final matter” Flemeth said.

Fay gave a hoarse scream as the anchor was rent free and the skin repaired.

“Shit, you could have warned me.”

“I could have, though it would have hurt just the same. Let me know when you are ready to leave, and I will open the doorway for you. Know this: When I guide your being through the crossroads, there is no eluvian on the other side. Once you go through, there can be no return.”

Fay looked down at her daughter, awash with the failure of having to leave her again.

“I won’t forget her?”

“No, your memory will remain intact.”

“I can’t… I can’t bear this. Ten years. The blight… what if I get killed?” Fay shook her head and stood. “The sooner we start, the sooner this will be over.”

She joined Flemeth in front of one of the mirrors, the eluvian as the mage had called it, and didn’t have the courage to look back. The woman touched the glass, and motioned for Fay to walk through.

“Good luck” she heard, and the palace in the fade dissolved into woodland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suledin – Endure  
> Dareth Shiral – Goodbye  
> Falon – Friend  
> Ir abelas – I’m sorry  
> Banal nadas – Nothing is inevitable


End file.
